Snow
by Aoiika
Summary: The raven boy has lost both his parents in one day, losing everything. Years after the murder of his family, his world is brought upside down once again when he loses all his friends. Harry has been caught up by the darkness that followed him. HP/DM. Violence etc...
1. Prologue

**A/n: **Finally! The start of SNOW! To all the new readers, welcome welcome! And to all the 'old' readers (not really old of course but you get what I mean) welcome back :D

**Important:** There is a prequel to this story named 'Nevar', but the two stories **can be read seperately**. I will of course invite you all to go read it, to have the background of the characters, but it's not necessary.

I will also warn you that there will be drugs, psychological, physical and sexual abuse. It's not my goal to shock anyone, but just to tell the story as realistically as possible. I will give warnings at the start of the chapters if needed.

And now...Enjoy the prologue ! ! ! :)

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When we're young, we never give much thought to things, to words our parents have spoken. When they talk of eating our vegetables, it's just to annoy us. When they tell us to wear a coat when it's raining, it seems so superfluous.

When _my_ parents talked of riddles, I forgot as soon as it had passed. When they told me to stay close to them, I just cared to go explore the world.

When my mother said I shouldn't roll in the snow in the winter, or I would turn into a Snowy Owl, I giggled and asked whether such a bird was really made of snow.

In my head I would grow wings of feathery snow, my hair would turn to thin breakable icicles, and I would fly through the blizzards of the far north.

I had a vivid imagination as a child.

And still, in a way, she was right.

My story is drenched in snow.

Snow and Ice and Blood.

Ice, Blood and…

Snow.

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**Prologue**

"Female, 20 years old, cardiac arrest after unknown substance abuse." The emergency medical technician yelled as he came through the door, pushing alongside a gurney and surrounded by a flock of nurses.

Dr. Kennedy had had a long day already, but only few emergencies. He was in the break room, trying to get his eyes to stay open properly, when he was called for the case of the 20-year old girl. He grunted as he threw away his cup of lukewarm coffee and ran down the hallway, avoiding all the nurses who went the opposite way. The adrenaline revived him as he approached the end of that hallway, more effective than a hundred cups of coffee.

Dr Kennedy finally joined the party and asked the crew of the ambulance for additional information as they administered first help. But there was not much more to learn. The patient's friend had only had the time to give them an age and a name, but she'd been unable to tell them what the patient had absorbed.

It was exactly what Dr Kennedy wanted to know. He needed to treat the cause of the symptoms, and not just the symptoms themselves; though at the moment, there was no choice but to focus on getting the heart to work properly again. It had slowed to less than 50 beats per minute.

A student was assigned to join the team in their efforts. A young woman with great admiration for the profession she was learning, and with hopes of saving every single life that came through the emergency doors. She jumped in at Dr Kennedy's side.

Nevertheless, as they all worked tirelessly to get the girl's body to come alive again, other problems arose. Nurses began to yell the names of organs at the two doctors, as they shut down one by one. No matter what they did, the body just wouldn't take charge of itself, as if it didn't know how.

And that was when Dr Kennedy understood.

The body didn't respond to their treatment the way it should have. It was confused and unorganized, the wondrous system nature had designed was breaking down.

Dr Kennedy knew it was the end before it came. He also knew then which drug the young girl had taken to. It was one of the new horrors in his world, in everyone's world.

The middle-aged man suddenly felt more tired than he'd been before. He laid a hand on his student's shoulder and pulled the woman back. She didn't understand at first and struggled, but when the sound of death filled the room a few minutes later, she too pulled back and stared.

The young girl lay still on the bed with a tube down her throat. Dr Kennedy's own heart constricted as he looked at her face for the first time. The girl had flowing black hair, shining all around her head like a dark halo. Her skin was smooth and cream-coloured. Her features were asian, and she was small and delicate. Despite her obvious youth, the doctor thought she looked just as tired as he felt.

Dr Kennedy walked out of the room before he began wondering what life the girl had suffered. He didn't do those kinds of things. It wasn't possible. If he started caring for a dead girl today, he wouldn't be able to save the father of two children tomorrow, or the old grandmother the day after tomorrow.

But the doctor also noticed that his intern was having more difficulty letting go. She was not yet used to losing patients, and she probably didn't understand why they'd lost her either. Without understanding there was no acceptance, and without acceptance she would start blaming herself. It was a road doctor Kennedy had gone down before. So even though he was so tired he could collapse on the spot, he decided to take his colleague out of the hospital for a hot beverage and a long talk.

Showered and changed, the surgeon and the surgeon-to-be took place at Mary's. It was a comforting environment with soft cushions and dimmed light. It soothed their raw feelings and calmed them down.

"Sophie." Dr Kennedy began as he watched the intern add three packs of sugar to her black coffee and stir energetically.

The woman looked up and sipped her beverage. Dr Kennedy wondered how it could still be potable, but she didn't seem to mind the taste.

"Her name was Cho-Chang." Sophie volunteered as her gaze dropped towards her cup again. "They picked her up around a bad neighbourhood. They told me she was most probably a prostitute."

Dr Kennedy knew better than to think Sophie was trying to minimize a death by saying it was 'just' a prostitute. He knew Sophie had gone where he hadn't, she'd wondered who the girl was, and what her now ended life had been like.

Dr Kennedy shut his mouth again. He tried not to retain the information he had just gotten. It was not a nice thing to be able to put a name to the body he'd just lost.

"If we'd had time to run a tox-screen, if I'd joined you sooner…"

"Stop right there, Dr Moore." He cut her off rather harshly. "It is a waste of time to go that way, believe me. It is healthier for everyone if you just let it go."

"But how can I?" Sophie fired up. "If we don't know what went wrong with Cho-Chang, how can we save the next person?"

"The _patient_ was intoxicated." Dr Kennedy replied, emphasizing the use of the word 'patient' instead of the girl's name. "There was nothing we could do."

Sophie's mouth dropped open in indignation. "Nothing!" She scoffed. "Of course we could have done something. Are you saying drug users aren't worth saving?" She couldn't believe that the doctor who'd always been so high in her esteem would drop to such lows.

"You misunderstand me, Sophie." The doctor shook his head wearily. He sipped his coffee and paused while enjoying the feel of the warm liquid trickling down his throat. "Today's case…was exceptional. Or at least it used to be. Their number is increasing quickly."

"I don't understand." Sophie said impatiently.

"I've seen this before and I've heard about it from colleagues at other hospitals." Dr Kennedy began his long explanation. "A new type of drug has infiltrated the underground market, and it's making more victims than any that preceded it. It's a potent and deadly mixture of chemicals of which we only know a few yet. And because it is still so new, people are not being warned against it. They take the drug, not knowing they just signed their death sentences. Though even the ones who do know the result, who have witnessed it, find themselves deciding to take it."

Sophie frowned. She had indeed not yet heard of this new phenomenon, but she was immediately aware of the horrifying consequences; she had just witnessed it herself. The girl's body had just…given up.

"How much research has already been done?" She asked, forgetting her coffee entirely as it turned cold by her side.

"Not much. It only circulates in the UK and Western Europe at the moment. Not much has been seized yet, and analyzing the substance proves more difficult than anticipated. Most of the information we have is not from direct analysis of the drug, but from analysing the patients. Most of them are brought in when it is too late, like the girl we just saw. But some have seen doctors before reaching that stage."

"Were they saved?" Sophie interrupted.

Dr Kennedy stared at the eager intern, then slowly shook his head. "That is the most horrifying aspect of this drug." He sighed. "The damage it does to the body is immediate and irreversible. Its effects have been observed in those patients who saw their doctors before they died. From the very first time they take it, the chemical workings of the body are disturbed, both in the brain and in the body.

Normally, all the cells of the human body work together as one, and timing is essential. But this drug deregulates the entire system. Some important chemicals are no longer produced, while others are blocked or insufficient. But the drug acts in place of those chemicals; so in order to continue to function, the person has to keep taking it, and rehabilitation seems impossible. But that of course only worsens the situation, and eventually leads to complete failure of all the organs including the brain, as you saw today. There was absolutely nothing we could do for her.

Even if we'd been able to save her this time, she would've died within a week. The disruption is permanent; the body is unable to keep the harmony. And the heart takes so much damage…"

"So…" Sophie began tentatively; she could not believe such horror existed, "from the very beginning…"

"Yes." Dr Kennedy answered reluctantly. "It could be that some are able to stop taking the drug at an early stage, when there is not so much damage. But we don't know about those patients. For all we know, every person who takes it is dead within a year of the first hit."

Sophie felt numb. She thought of the girl, Cho-Chang. Her view of the event had changed. Now it looked to her as if the girl had come into the hospital a corpse, as if she'd already been lifeless. In a way it was true. Cho-Chang had died a long time ago. It had just taken her body a while to understand that.

"What's its name?" Sophie asked. Unlike Dr Kennedy, she wanted to put names to the dead, and to the killers.

"As we don't know its composition yet, there is no official name." The man answered. He'd also left his coffee go cold; he had no desire for it anymore. "On the streets, they call it 'shhhhh'."

"What?" Sophie frowned. She hadn't understood what the doctor had said. Had he just shushed her? Were there people listening in? Was she supposed to stop talking?

Dr Kennedy took out a pen from his pocket and a napkin from the coffee tray. He wrote two letters, like initials: SH.

"Oh." Now Sophie Moore understood. 'Shhhh' like in 'SH'. She watched as her boss wrote what the letters stood for: Sedate Heart.

"The organization that developed and is currently distributing the drug is also called 'Sedate Heart'." Dr Kennedy explained. "It is unclear whether the drug took on the name of the organization, or if the organization is called after the drug. To my knowledge, the two became known at the same time. But the name is suitable enough for its fatal effects."

Sophie Moore just thought it was disgusting that people would knowingly sell such a deadly substance and then have it called like that. It was right-out cruel, detestable. But there was one thing bothering her in all this. "How do you know so much about this, Dr Kennedy?" She inquired.

The man's eyes flashed at her with sadness more piercing than a scalpel. It penetrated to her very core, and she could almost feel it with him. Sophie immediately regretted her question. But she got an answer all the same.

"My sixteen-year-old son died of it last year." He said as he turned away, looking outside as if he would see his son appear around the corner. "When your child dies, the cause becomes an obsession."

"I'm…so sorry." Sophie answered, feeling utterly defeated. It seemed like there was no hope, not a single sliver of it.

Dr Kennedy kept his eyes on the window, only half seeing the cars passing by. "We have to prepare ourselves, Sophie." He said determinedly. "Many more of these victims will come in, and for a while longer, there will be no way for us to save them." He hesitated for a few seconds, then added uncertainly, "Cho-Chang wasn't the first, and she won't be the last to die in our hands."

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Hey everyone. I'm really, but really really curious what you all think of this beginning. I love to have feedback and contact with everyone who reads, to have some dialogue. It makes the life of an author so much less lonely.

Thank you all, and most of all for the support on the the previous part. I wouldn't have gotten this far without all the fantastic reviews and messages :D

Aoiika


	2. Chapter 1

**A/n: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH Thank You** *big smiley*

For all the reviews on that first chapter, even though it didn't have much content yet, thank you. And what I absolutely love the most is that you actually remembered the details I put into Nevar, and linked them with Snow. You look further than the surface plot and characters, and that makes me feel like you guys really understand what I try to communicate. Keep up the good work *annoying teacher voice*

What else can I say but that I love you :D And to all the anonymous reviewers to whom I couldn't answer, I appreciated your comments too. I'm so very happy, and I can only hope to reach as many reviews on this chapter. I _love_ to see how you react on all the events...

Enjoy!

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**Chapter 1.**

**He Broke It**

What better to unwind after a long and hard day than go grab a few drinks in a bar or club, mingle with the crowd, get rid of some stress by seeking physical contact with the opposite sex, or the same sex for some. Especially on a Friday nights, young adults making their way through university or early careers flooded these meeting places, the crossroads of a youngster's social life.

Things were no different for Draco Malfoy, twenty-one-year-old male, fresh out of training for the special police force. Like most of the trainees, he had been naively eager to change the world, bring down the bad guys and drug lords. And as with most of them, it was after the training that the _actual_ training began. One could not really know what the job would feel like until one did it for real, not in some kind of role play. The newbie's were quickly disillusioned, their motivation broken when they came face to face with that wall we call reality.

Luckily, Draco Malfoy had been driven by more than simple adolescent naivety. His father's mistakes, and his refusal to set them straight, had marked both Draco and his mother for life. When Lucius chose his criminal family above his real family, the sense of betrayal and injustice had planted something in Draco, something that had driven him to complete the tough training and to not give up when the even tougher realities of the job smacked him in the face.

His world had been completely turned upside down with the death of his mother, which he blamed entirely on his father. And it had only made him double his efforts to make it in the narcotics and organized crime unit, in order to find the organization his father worked for, and bring them all to justice.

But let's not forget that the whole point of alcohol, music and sex was to leave all those troubles behind for a while. And Draco was doing a wonderful job at that, accompanied by his drinking mate: Blaise Zabini.

Draco had kept contact with Ron and Hermione through the years, especially now that Ron was going through the same training he had done to become a member of the special police force. But those two would never agree to an outing like this. Hermione would never accept to waste her time on such nonsense when she could be studying for her chemistry classes at university, and Ron would never dare go out behind her back. So Zabini was the only one left, really.

Blaise was very funny, and quite beautiful. He was about the same height and size as the blonde, but with much darker hair and skin. He was also more of the feminine kind, which was why it was all the more obvious he was gay. Draco had met him two years previously, also in a bar (which probably explained why going out drinking was still their activity of choice when they were together). At the time, they had both been looking for a good time, drunk out of their minds. Blaise was obviously gay, but Draco hadn't been very comfortable with his sexuality towards men yet. It had been all the more confusing because he was attracted to _both_ male _and_ female. Draco had still been in his experimenting phase, trying different types of roles.

One night they'd had together. It had been enough for Draco o realize two things.

First, Draco liked to 'play the male role', if one were to put it like this. He liked to be the one in control, the one to approach the other and pursue him. He liked to be the one taking the other in his arms, and not the other way around. He liked to do the protecting, and everything that went with it. Maybe being bisexual meant he treated men and women the same, and wanted a stable role in both situations. He didn't really understand it.

Second, Blaise and Draco really didn't click. Granted, that one night had been hot enough, but besides just having sex, they'd felt ill at ease acting as lovers, speaking as lovers; and so being in a relationship had been out of the question. But when they had stopped trying to be that way, they'd found that they were very comfortable with each other when they simply hung out.

The friendship that had evolved from that point was really the only reason Draco was there tonight, in that particular club. Because he wouldn't have come if anyone but one of his three best friends had asked. It was a club notorious for promiscuity (and some gay activities). He'd told Blaise he didn't like this kind of place, but his friend hadn't had much action in a while, and seemed to be getting desperate for even just a shagging session. The dark-skinned man had pleaded and begged until Draco had had no choice but to concede.

He'd had quite a bit to drink already. It had been necessary too. All the research that he'd done into the past of a certain drug dealer had been entirely rejected by his superior. Apparently, his sources had not been reliable.

Draco couldn't care less about the stupid sources now. All he cared about was the wonderful feeling that nothing mattered anymore as he stared at the ceiling, where flashing lights of different colours danced at the rhythm of the music resonating through the establishment.

After contemplating those lights for an unknown length of time, Draco straightened his head again, wondering where Blaise was. He'd set off to the bar to get drinks a while ago.

It took some time for Draco's blurry vision to allow him to spot his friend, whose limbs were currently intricately laced with another man's. _Well, his problem seems to be solved._ The blonde thought grudgingly. There was a good chance that he would have to spend the night alone, or maybe return early. He really didn't like it much here, and he usually never came in this neighbourhood. It was too far from his flat.

A tall and attractive brown-haired man slid into the seat next to Draco with a smile stretched from ear to ear. Draco looked him up and down, estimating him to be in his thirties. He waved him away almost immdetiately, making it clear he wasn't interested. The man would probably want to be the dominant one, and he wasn't Draco's type.

Besides, in this place it was only possible to get one night stands, and that wasn't what Draco was looking for either. He liked to have sex for the first time with someone, but he thought it became much better each time he learned something about the other person. Learning to know each other's bodies, and knowing what made the other one temporarily lose their sanity, _that_ was the kind of thing the blonde wanted. Not that it needed to be a serious long-lasting relationship, but Draco liked to leave an impression, to be more than just a momentary whim. The shortest flirts he'd had were about a week long.

When the man had left with a glower in his direction, Draco looked around for his friend again. Blaise had now moved to the dance floor, and was intimately busy with his partner for the night. _I won't see him again until tomorrow_. Draco thought sombrely. But he knew the dark-skinned man would've done the same for him if he'd asked. He was always ready for him even if Draco called in the middle of the night (although he would get to hear a string of profanities over the phone first).

Grey-eyes decided that he would enjoy the music and the crowded atmosphere for a little while longer, and then quietly make his way home, so that he could answer the phone in the morning when Blaise would call him with all the details from his nocturnal adventure. That was one of those rather feminine ways Blaise had.

Draco looked around, just to watch the people this time. He had a bad habit of trying to look for suspicious activity, as his training had taught him. Blaise had often complained of it, but he wasn't here now, so the blonde could do what he wanted.

There was a group of girls at a nearby table who were making regular visits to the bathroom, and judging by the way they came out again, they didn't powder their noses in the traditional way. Draco had no doubt that if he arrested them right there, he would find either speed, cocaine or mdma stuffed in their handbags. And it wouldn't be an exaggeration to assume that three quarters of the club was on ecstasy.

It was understandable, in a way. Draco had had his share of ecstasy. At some point it had been as much a part of going out as drinking alcohol. But since he'd finished his training, he felt morally obligated not to touch anything illegal.

People taking drugs weren't really what he was looking for anyway. Those weren't the worst. What was much more important was spotting the ones selling it or exchanging it, the trade behind it. Finding those, that was Draco's job. And although he wasn't technically working now, and wouldn't go around arresting anyone, he didn't think it would be a bad idea to observe and learn.

With everyone walking and dancing around, it was hard to keep track while being seated. But by a stroke of luck, Draco had something interesting going on right in his line of sight. Right in front of him, about seven or eight yards away, he had a clear view of two men sitting close together at the bar.

One of them was sitting with his back to Draco, so he couldn't tell much about his appearance, only that he was wearing a wool hat; which was slightly suspicious in itself. Granted, the autumn weather wasn't very soft on them this year, but the club was crowded and hot. Who in their right mind wore a winter hat in 25 degrees? (Celsius)

The second man was leaning with his back against the bar. His elbows propped upon it, he was nonchalantly speaking to his companion. But the way his eyes moved was, to Draco's trained eye, an obvious sign that he was keeping a look-out. The man was probably in his early thirties or late twenties and had a very unattractive brown beard. (Beards were way too manly for Draco's taste.)

The man with the wool hat shifted in his seat to get something out of his back pocket, and Draco couldn't keep his testosterone-filled body from noticing that the bloke's arse was quite…charming. Those dark jeans certainly gave it an appeal. But then he spotted the folded envelope that the guy inconspicuously slipped into the other man's hand and he leaned forward to try and see better what was going on. This was more than suspicious.

The bearded man took over the envelope skilfully and in a split second it had disappeared into an inside pocket. It must've been either drugs or money, Draco concluded. But at that point, the man who was facing him let his eyes wander Draco's way, and he noticed the young policeman staring.

_Shite!_ Draco cursed, but quickly let his hair fall before his eyes and tried to act like he wasn't looking. His beer bottle had been emptied a while ago, but he pretended to take a sip.

The man with the ugly beard wasn't fooled. His eyes darkened and focused as he nudged his companion, then gave a slight nod Draco's way. The man with the wool hat followed his gaze and turned round on his stool.

The empty beer bottle slipped from Draco's paralysed fingers, hit the table, rolled off it and clanged loudly to the floor. Luckily, the noise from the music was too loud for anyone else to have heard, and the blonde himself wasn't even aware of it.

The man with the jeans… the man with the hat… he wasn't really a man. He couldn't be called a 'man' yet. His face was much too youthful, not a trace of facial hair, not a wrinkle, no roughness whatsoever. The hat only covered half of his hair, which Draco could now see was an ink-like black and was curling along his cheeks, ears and neck. And right in the middle of that face, two clear, moss green eyes, staring right at him.

Draco's body reacted even before his brain could catch up, but when it did, all he could think was: _It's him!_ _It's…Harry…_

Harry. A name he had banished from his mind for years now.

Right after his best friend had disappeared, he'd gone looking for him together with Ron and Hermione, frantically going from house to house in their old neighbourhood to ask what had happened to the Dursleys. But all they could tell him was that Vernon Dursley had gotten into some kind of trouble at work or financially, and they'd all had to move. But where they'd gone wasn't known to anyone.

He'd tried everything he could think of after that. Calling social services, who could only refer him to a different department, who in their turn referred him to another one in an endless and useless loop. And since Harry was supposed to be with his relatives, he couldn't be reported 'missing'.

He'd also sent many an e-mail to Harry's address, but to no avail.

Nothing. Their friend had simply dropped off the face of the earth, as incredible as it seemed. And Draco had had no choice but to live with it.

After six months of being restless and miserable, he'd found that the only way of getting on –for his mother was now having trouble with her health, and he was forced to make important decisions about his future, like his decision to go into training for the special police force- was to push everything that stood in the way of his sanity into a dark recess of himself. And that was where Harry had stayed…until now.

The boy with the hat…Harry…looked away again. There had been a flash of equal surprise and recognition in the emerald gaze, but it had quickly slipped away. The two of them were now furiously discussing with each other, and the man with the beard looked very displeased. He stood up and pulled at the dark-haired boy's arm to pull him off his stool, nodding towards the exit.

This Draco could not allow. He jumped to his feet and pushed swiftly through the crowd to reach the two men as they moved for the door.

"Hey!" He called out to them, and as soon as he could, he took Harry's free arm, holding him back. The physical contact made him shudder in a mixture of disbelief and pleasure. "Excuse me, but could I have a word with you?"

The bearded man seemed surprised at Draco's polite tone. The blonde wasn't sure whether it made him look more or less suspicious, but he thought the less hostile he appeared, the less the chance of Harry running away.

Draco acted on instinct more than on rationality. His gut was telling him what to do, which words to speak, because his brain was still unable to grasp the fact that _Harry_ was standing right in front of him.

Some kind of communication went on between the two companions, but Harry managed to convince his 'friend' it was all right. So while the bearded man left, Harry followed Draco who led the way to the bathroom. But once there, the blonde peeked inside and saw that there were several people there, and more coming. This wouldn't do. He needed a more private place.

He took Harry's arm again, but the young man pulled it away immediately, like he'd done before. Draco's fingers clenched together in tight fists, but he had no time to reflect on it. He halted the first staff member he came across and showed him his identification card in his wallet.

"I'm from the special police force. I need to use your changing room." He spoke like a true professional.

The member of staff seemed unimpressed. It wasn't the first time that policemen came nosing around the establishment. Control over night clubs had been tightening these days. So he led both of them to a door further down the hall and let them in.

As soon as the door closed, Harry stepped back to put distance between them, his eyes were narrow and cold, his expression wary.

"You're police!" He said accusingly.

"Don't worry." Draco answered bitterly, feeling hurt by the distant and harsh tone. "I'm not going to arrest you." Harry probably didn't have anything incriminating on himself anymore anyway. He'd given it to the other man, the one who had left. It was probably why it was Harry who had accepted to talk to him, and not the one with the beard.

The dark-haired teenager's chin went up in the air in a defying gesture, as if daring the blonde to arrest him. It irritated Draco, but it was soon washed away with a new incapacitating wave of the same realisation: _Harry is standing right here_. The elusive, invisible, nonexistent Harry. For four years he'd managed to pretend that his best friend wasn't real, that he simply didn't exist, because it was bearable that way. And now he stood there, in the flesh. You couldn't get more real than that.

Draco stared openly. He couldn't help it. He had to know every detail, had to get some answers to the questions he'd tortured himself with for so long. And he searched for them in Harry's appearance first of all.

Harry had certainly changed. It was inevitable after such a long period of time. Draco quickly did the math in his head, and concluded that Harry must be eighteen now.

He didn't look eighteen. Or maybe he did. It was hard to tell. The boy's body and face looked younger, but the expression in his eyes and the suspicion and hostility in his posture made him look older. Or maybe it was just teenage rebellion?

Draco wanted to rub his eyes, to make the tension go away, and to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating for some reason. It simply didn't make any sense. How could Harry just have appeared in front of him? But then again, he rarely came around here, and certainly not in this bar.

"What do you want?" Harry snapped. Draco was taken aback by the unkindness once again.

"You know my name."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in puzzlement. "Yes." He spoke hesitatingly, as if considering the blonde's sanity or intellect.

"Then you can address me by my name, _Harry._" Grey-eyes spoke through gritted teeth.

The teenager pressed his lips together, but didn't say a thing. When it became clear to Draco that he wouldn't say anything more, he continued himself. Or at least he intended to, but once he'd opened his mouth, he no longer knew what to say.

What could you tell or ask a best friend, someone you'd been as close to as he had, someone he had come to realise he had _loved_ in more ways than one, and whom you hadn't seen in four years? Who had just left one day never to show a sign of life again?

"I don't' have time for this." Harry said as he moved towards the door, but Draco was standing in front of it, and he made no sign that he had any intention to move.

Harry looked up into his face questioningly. The blonde noticed with pleasure that the difference in their heights had stayed almost as it was. And then he felt a surge of concern. Was it a normal height for an eighteen-year old? Ron was taller than him and he was also just nineteen.

"Can I go? Or is there something else?" Harry was starting to get impatient.

Grey-eyes didn't understand. How could his friend be so calm and distant! How could this sudden reunion not affect him? Didn't he care?

Well, clearly, Harry hadn't cared enough to get back in touch with him nor his other friends. Draco had thought for a long time that something had happened to Harry, that he'd been forced to leave. But now, it was starting to look like…

No. It wasn't so simple, so black and white. Draco had learned many things since he'd graduated from the loving and protective environment of St-James' College, and the most important was that the world was made of many different shades of grey and in-between's and "it's complicated"s.

What was Harry doing here? At eighteen, he shouldn't have been allowed into this place. He was barely the legal age to drink, but he didn't look like it. Any barman or bouncer who wished to respect the law would have turned him away. And what had he been doing with that bearded man? Somehow, Draco just couldn't accept the idea that Harry was involved in drug-related affairs. He began to spin all kinds of theories as excuses for what he had seen at the bar. It suddenly didn't look so suspicious anymore. Maybe they'd just exchanged a letter, or some mail, or anything else, really. An envelope could contain many more things than money or drugs.

"Look, I need to go, I've got things to do. Can you _please_ move out of my way?"

Grey-eyes still hadn't said anything. Harry was now pushing past him.

"Wait!" Draco blurted out as Harry's hand touched the door handle. He fumbled around in his pockets and pulled out a slip of paper. He always carried a few of them when he went out, in case he came across someone he was really interested in. Today, it was meant for _the one_ that had captured his attention so many years ago, and had never really let him go since.

Harry took the slip of paper without looking at it and disappeared out the door. Draco's heart deflated, and his knees grew so weak he had to sit down on one of the benches in the cramped room.

The little papers contained his phone number. But would Harry really call him? Wouldn't he have done it years ago if he'd wanted to?

And the question that relentlessly repeated itself in grey-eyes' mind: would he ever get to see Harry again?

* * *

What now? What is Harry thinking? Why is he so different? Hmmm?

Love you all, guys :D Or as I say in Japanese 大好きだよ！

Aoiika


	3. Chapter 2

**A/n: **I'm weak, girls (guys). Yes I admit it. I cannot leave a written chapter on my computer without posting it. I tried to, because I want to have more regular postings, so that you don't have to wait too long if I don't write anything for a longer period of time, but no. I cannot keep it to myself... (though i have a feeling you won't begrudge me this :)

Well here it is then. I put a lot of effort in this, so I hope you will make some effort too :)

* * *

**Chapter 2.**

**Start of What?**

The weekend. The time when Draco was usually out doing something with someone, blowing off some steam, getting rid of bottled up energy and anger and frustration and stress.

This time however, all those things were still coiled up in his stomach, in his chest. They were churning and biting him, in alliance with this new, burning curiosity and bewilderment and concern.

Last week he had been left behind at the bar by Harry… Potter.

It felt like he should think of him by his last name, because it had been like meeting a stranger. But not completely like a stranger, because the name 'Harry' was still dear to him; even though it had been buried deep for a long time, the sound of its vowels and consonants in his head sounded like he felt when having sex.

It wasn't as intense a feeling of satisfaction of course. Seriously, whatever the most romantic of books or movies said, for Draco, nothing could beat sex. It was his antidepressant, the honey of his holy land, the…

Clearly, he had spent too much time with Blaise. That was _his_ kind of talk.

And speaking of the devil. Draco's cell phone rang, blinking his gay friend's name on the screen. He reached over to take it off the nightstand. He'd just turned it on for the first time in a week, and he was already feeling like it was a mistake.

"Draaaake! _Finally_ you answer me you blithering idiot! What kind of git turns off their cell-phone for an entire bloody _week_! Do you realise…"

Grey-eyes was already drifting away. Usually he had no troubles with his friend, but now…now was not a good time. For the last week he had been entirely lost. The encounter with his childhood friend had shaken him more than he'd realised at first. And the worst were the endless questions, and the _one_ ultimate question: _why?_ Why had he just disappeared like that and never shown himself again, or even sent just a tiny email, just a few words. It would've taken him only seconds to say: "Hey, I'm not coming back. I'm…" and then whatever the hell he was doing now, or where he had gone. He had probably moved away with his family.

But now. Now the boy was eighteen. And Draco could not help but wonder. Had Harry finished his education? What school had he attended? Why hadn't he gone back to St-James? He'd gotten a full scholarship! And they had had so much fun together! Didn't Harry like waking up in the same bed in the mornings? Or had Draco chased him away with the parties and his talk about his girlfriends?

It was only after Draco graduated that he had come to see that Harry had always been more mature than him. And he'd remembered all the times his friend had been exasperated by his behaviour.

So was that the reason? Why? What was it? What had he done wrong?

The day he'd realised Harry was gone was the first day of his life Draco had felt insecure about himself. The first time he'd wondered if he was good enough, funny enough, smart enough, entertaining enough… Before, everyone just liked him (or disliked him). He'd never cared much either way. And he certainly didn't care why people liked him or not.

And there he was. A working-class adult of twenty-one, lying in his bed on a Saturday morning after turning in early on a Friday for goodness sake! And he was still wondering about that same thing, that same person. Still pondering all his mistakes and shortcomings. It was outrageous…and inevitable.

Draco Malfoy decided he didn't care if he was an addict or delinquent, he didn't give a ****. (In the blonde's mind, there weren't _actual_ stars, for your information.), he got up, leaving his phone behind to vibrate to its heart's content, and got to the liquor cabinet in his tiny open kitchen, which had a bar, and was nestled in the middle of his dining and living room.

Well, dining room was much said. There was no table, nor any chairs. There was just a bar and some stools surrounding said kitchen, and then the sofa and two armchairs close by the large window.

It was a crappy apartment, but it was good enough for a bachelor, living on his own, spending most of his time at work or out. The one thing he did like about it, and the reason why he had taken it, was the view from the one window. You could see the Thames slither through the grey landscape that was London. And at night, the lights of the streets twinkled in funny patterns, with a dark strip where the river flowed, which reflected those yellow dots in wavy colours.

The morning was sunny now. It was already past noon actually. So Draco thought his early alcohol consumption could be excused.

But knowing that he had drunk several glasses of some strong liquor every evening during the last week wasn't helping his conscience. Was he developing an alcoholic's behaviour?

The cell-phone was buzzing loudly against his sheets in his bedroom. He ignored it.

But a little later, a knock was to be heard on his door, which was a little harder to let pass by.

"Hey, mate." Ron's red head walked through his front door a few moments later, and plopped down on his couch. "Hermione's told me you acted weird when she saw you this week, and your phone's been off. She sent me 'cause she's worried. You know how she gets…"

Grey-eyes sighed internally as he filled another glass with the strong amber liquid. He knew Ron would forgive him his early consumption if he shared.

"Already?" Ron's eyes widened when Draco handed him the glass and he noticed the one in his friend's hand. "Are you all right?" His tone suggested that he was starting to believe Hermione was right to worry.

"Yeah, I'm great. I'm just fantastic." Draco sneered. "Don't you see?" He made a sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate himself. His phone vibrated loudly once again.

"You turned your mobile back on?" The Weasley wondered aloud.

"I had to sometime."

"What's got you upside down like this?" Ron asked roughly, but not meanly. "The last time I saw you this way was…you know."

Draco grunted and took a large gulp from the whiskey. The last time he'd been so lost? That had been the day he came closer to understand Harry's suffering. It was the day Narcissa, his mother, had died. The day he'd understood a little better what Harry must've felt.

"I don't want to talk about it, Weasley."

Draco still used his friend's surname whenever he was irritated. It was a clear sign to everyone that his buttons should not be pushed.

"Fine, mate. But I have to tell Hermione something." Ron shrugged and drunk all of his whiskey in one gulp before getting up and moving towards the door. He knew when it was time to leave.

"Tell her work and loneliness is getting to me. She'll certainly go for that."

"All right." Ron nodded in ascent.

"Hey, Ron." Draco called before the redhead was out the door. "How's training going?" He tried a smile to look a little friendlier. At least Ron knew him well enough to appreciate the effort.

"Nothing new at the moment." The redhead shrugged. "But thanks for asking." And he left with a grateful smile. It was an advantage to him to have someone to talk to who had already gone through the entire training for the Special Police Force.

Once Ron had left, Draco was still not at ease. His phone was still buzzing every few minutes. It was his voicemail telling him he had messages. Most probably from Blaise and Hermione, or his boss, scolding him for shutting off his phone for a week, even though he had gone in for work every day on time.

But what else could he have done? He didn't wish to speak to anyone, he didn't wish to think about anything… There was just one thing he wanted. To see a certain person again and get all the answers to the questions that had lain inside of him all this time. He wanted to know, and when Draco really wanted something, he could never let it go.

A plan slowly began to hatch into the blonde's mind as he watched the sun drop lower towards the horizon. It wasn't very sophisticated. In fact, it was hardly even the beginning of a plan, but it was enough to get him into the shower, a new set of clothes, and into his car, on his way to the same neighbourhood he had visited with his friend a week earlier.

_What are the chances of him being there again? It's Saturday, last time was a Friday. But it's still the weekend…_ But was he going for amusement, or had he been there with a purpose? The bloke he'd been with hadn't looked like a friend. They hadn't talked to each other as if they liked each other. It had looked like a business transaction, and a shady one at that.

Another question. Too many questions. He _had_ to find Harry.

It took him a total of five hours of driving and walking around, and visiting several pubs and bars close to the one where he'd seen the teenager, to finally catch a glimpse of what he'd been looking for.

Harry didn't make it easy on him. He was still wearing his dark wool hat, half-pulled over his hair, he wasn't wearing glasses this time, was dressed overall in dark clothes and was walking at a brisk pace along the pavement, and into a little square park.

Draco had to force himself not to run, for that would maybe alarm the younger one. Harry hadn't reacted well to the news that Draco was now working for the police. So he fast-walked after him, his legs luckily being longer and giving him more speed.

Harry seemed in a great hurry, crossing the park in less than a minute, but the blonde had reached him just before they exited the little hedges that delimited the small green space.

The dark-haired teenager swung around in one swift motion before Draco could catch his arm. Of course, there weren't many people around anymore at almost one in the morning, except for some straggling party-goers, so he must've heard Draco's footsteps following him.

"Wh…Dra…you." He finished after a few aborted tries. His glass-less eyes darted left and right before darkening unto the blonde. He had to look up, and clearly that did not suit him very well. "Why are you following me?" He demanded calmly. But Draco could hear his breathing was hitched. Was he nervous?

"Why haven't you called?"

"What?"

This answer upset Draco more than he ever wanted to admit. Had Harry even looked at the little paper he'd given him last time? The one with his number on it?

"I gave you my number. Why didn't you call me?"

"Why would I have called you?" Harry asked. But it didn't sound mean or derisive. He seemed genuinely confused as to any reason why he would call.

Grey-eyes was flabbergasted. "Why? _Why?_" He almost yelled, then took a deep breath to lower his tone of voice. "Because _everything_! Because I'm Draco. Because you're Harry. Because we were friends once, and because you disappeared, not only on me, but on _your_ best friends too. Now why could I possibly want an explanation, or even just some news?"

The eighteen-year old was shifting his weight, restlessly moving this way and that, as if he wanted to get away from there as quickly as possible. But for the first time, his expression towards the blonde softened, and Draco could finally recognize a hint of the warmth he once found in Harry's arms in the morning. He suddenly craved that feeling so much he felt choked by it.

Since the raven wasn't immediately answering, Draco felt compelled to push forward.

"Can we sit down somewhere? Want to go for a drink?"

"No." Harry answered curtly, taking Draco a little by surprise. "Let's sit here." And he moved to the closest bench.

The rotting wood felt icy even through the protection of Draco's coat. _Harry must be freezing._ He thought as he looked at the dark-haired one. Harry had always had trouble staying warm, and he was now wearing a much thinner jacket than Draco. It hugged Harry's body closely and revealed a thin androgynous frame.

Both admiring him, and keeping himself from voicing his concern over the cold at the same time, the blonde turned his eyes away and looked at his watch.

Ten past one. Where had Harry gone this late? Was he going home from a night out with friends? Draco hoped so. But he didn't dare ask such a direct and rude question. In his younger years he wouldn't have cared. But as mentioned before, Draco had seen how immature he had been in the past and had done a lot of effort to change that.

In case Harry had left because of his immaturity, Draco wanted to show that he had changed for the better.

"Why were you following me?" Harry repeated his earlier question.

"I just saw you walking down the street as I came out of the bar over there. I thought I'd say hi, since you didn't call."

"Sorry." Draco's heart felt a pinch at that word, spoken by Harry's now soft and sincere voice. "I lost the paper."

"Of course." Draco couldn't help this one sneer. That had just so obviously been a lie. It was disappointing after the beautiful apology that had preceded it.

Harry made no response to that. He still looked agitated. So Draco spoke up again.

"So tell me now then, since you couldn't call, how are you?"

This question seemed to bewilder the dark-haired boy. "Uh…well. I'm…uh…fine?" He ended it like it was a question. "And how…how are you?"

"I'm fine too." He said. 'Good' would be a lie. And contrary to Harry, he was decided not to lie to him.

"And…uh…well….Ron and Hermione…you still uh…see them?"

_At least he has the sense to be embarrassed about abandoning us._ Draco thought with some grim satisfaction. At least it showed that Harry cared whether he'd hurt them or not.

"Yes, I still see them regularly. Ron is also on his way to becoming a policeman, and Hermione is at university, of course. She's in her second year, studying Chemistry."

"Oh. Chemistry." The tone in the voice made Draco look, just in time to see the flash of a tiny smile on Harry's features.

"Are you studying too?" Draco asked conversationally. Quite unexpectedly, even such a routine question earned him another curt "No." As if he'd somehow offended him. He frowned shortly, then tried again, afraid the conversation would end there. "Didn't feel like it?"

Harry shrugged.

And nothing more.

_God, don't tell me he's one of those insufferable teenagers!_ Draco prayed internally. He'd seen more than he wished in his line of work, or on public transportations. Having been one himself, it particularly annoyed him.

"What do you do then? Do you follow some kind of training? Or do you work?"

"Are we really going to talk about such boring shite?" Harry said in an irritated tone.

_Insufferable teenager it is._ Draco sighed, letting a small cloud of steam escape his mouth. He was surprised it was _that_ cold already.

A long moment passed while nothing was heard but the sound of nightly traffic. The awkwardness was palpable. And Draco was frustrated by it. He'd thought…he'd hoped…during the last week he'd imagined that f he saw Harry again, they could fall right into the same complicity they'd shared four years previously.

But Harry had very clearly, _obviously_, changed. Things changed. That fucking time! It always had to change things!

"I'm getting cold, and I have to go." Harry said suddenly as he jumped to his feet.

For a short second, Draco let his eyes drift over his old friend's silhouette. Yes, he definitely looked good in those grey-black jeans. And even the wool hat had its charm. It's deep purple colour brought out Harry's green orbs in an unusual way. It made them even more striking, even in the dark.

"Wait!" Draco jumped up too, only too happy to leave the freezing bench. "You have to call me this time, or give me your number."

"You want to talk _more_?" Harry said as if this seemed inconceivable to him.

"And why would I not?" Draco spit back a little viciously. He kept feeling rejected and he did not like it.

The raven was still in a hurry. So it was in a haste that he conceded to accepting a new little paper from Draco and stashed it into his thin jacket's pocket.

"Do you come here often?" The blonde tried to prolong the moment until he would have to watch Harry's back retreat.

"It depends." Harry answered vaguely.

"Can't we make some plans to have a drink some time? I could call Ron and Hermione."

This seemed to make the young adolescent sway. His expression changed several times, too quickly for grey-eyes to understand. But in the end, the only answer he gave was "We'll see."

And then he turned away and continued on his way with the same brisk walk from before.

* * *

How many chapters has it been now? I've lost count. How many end-notes have I written? Too many.

I'll just say...I...need...life...force...I...need...reviews ...I'm...dying...heeeere...aaaaaaaaaaaaargh

just kidding :p

Aoiika


	4. Chapter 3

**A/n: **A somewhat shorter chapter. But since many of you said you didn't mind irregular updates, I thought I would just post whenever I had something ready. I felt like stopping there, so here it is. Enjoy this chapter! Soon more :D

* * *

**Chapter 3.**

**He Swallowed More**

Hermione heard the door to their apartment open and close from where she was sitting at the bedroom window, a blanket around her shoulders and her fingertips tapping on a laptop keyboard. She had lab reports to write, graphs to decipher, research to do…

She praised herself lucky that she'd been able to get an apartment with Ron (even though it wasn't nearly as nice as Draco's, he had more money after all), and that she hadn't been forced to move into a student bedroom near the campus.

Of course, the daily travel was a little tiring at times, but at least she had a peaceful environment in which to work, something that hadn't always been guaranteed at St-James, especially not when surrounded by flocks of adolescent girls coming to grips with their new bodies, sexualities and capabilities.

She knew that college girls weren't much better, and thus she was very happy that she did not have to live with any partying roommates or loud neighbours, sharing internet networks and bathrooms…urgh…

Ron, the blithering idiot who, strangely, had managed to make himself indispensible in her life, walked into the bedroom and she set her laptop aside. The redheaded young man let himself drop on the bed, facing Hermione at the window. The room was so small their knees could now touch.

"Well? How did it go?" Hermione wondered, her work for once forgotten.

"He wasn't sick. Not anything like that." Ron began to report. "But he seemed pretty depressed…or mad. A little of both. I haven't seen him that way since Mrs. Malfoy died."

"Did it look like he had boyfriend or girlfriend troubles?"

"How should I know?" Ron shrugged. "You would know if he had someone new, wouldn't you?"

The girl rolled her eyes at him, as she had kept doing all these years. "I'm not psychic either. If he hides it well I can't possibly know. He might've felt too insecure to tell us, afraid that it would go wrong. And maybe now it has gone wrong, and he's suffering and he can't tell us because he's kept it quiet."

"What, really?" The redhead frowned. "That sounds like girl logic. Not Draco."

"Maybe…"

Hermione Granger did that thing again with her eyes, where she began staring off in the distance, leaving everyone behind to get lost in her thoughts and theories. But then a smell intruded the small space between them in the cramped bedroom.

"Did you _drink_?" She squealed in a sudden high pitched tone as she sniffed closer to her boyfriend's mouth.

Ron tried to move his head away in an attempt to hide his smelly breath, but it was too late. So he tried for a sheepish smile, which only earned him a disapproving frown in return. But he didn't want to say it was because of Draco. There were things that you just kept between mates.

"Was Draco drinking?"

_Blimey! Is she ever not right?_ Ron thought exasperatedly to himself. But there was no point in keeping the male honour now. He nodded. It calmed his girlfriend's anger towards him somewhat, as it gave her something new to think about.

"Come on, let's make you some food to digest that alcohol." She finally said after a long and thoughtful pause.

Ron wasn't one to say no to food. Even if Hermione's cooking was somewhat far behind his mother's skills, he wasn't averse to anything that filled his continuously hungry belly. He grinned broadly and followed his girl to their kitchen, from which he was consequently thrown out because there was barely room for two and he was constantly sticking to Hermione's back.

"I can't move around like that!" She complained as she all but swung a pan at him.

Fifteen minutes later, they were seated on their couch, as they had no room for a real dining table, munching on cheese and tomato omelette. (with lots of ketchup in Ron's case)

As the redheaded adolescent was concentrating on garbling down the eggs and sweet tomato sauce, his girlfriend was rather nibbling than eating. And a few more minutes had her speaking out the thoughts she could no longer keep to herself.

"He hasn't been so disturbed since his mother died...but there can't be anything new there. People don't die twice…unless he learned something about her?

No, I don't' think so. He would've told us that." Hermione answered her own question before Ron could swallow what he was chewing on. "But it might…"

There was a long pause, only filled by the sound of traffic outside.

"Might what?" Ron asked, always getting impatient when she left her sentences trailing off in the middle, cutting him off to her mind.

"Maybe it's something with his father."

The two nineteen-year olds looked at each other, trying to judge what the other thought of this idea.

"His father?" Ron frowned again. Hermione had told him a little of the issues she believed Draco had with the paternal side, but he had thought it all too psychology-ish for him. What with all the talk of abandonment issues and all sorts of complexes with weird Latin names.

"Yes." Hermione began talking faster because she was getting impatient. "You remember his father? We saw him once when…"

"Yeah!" Ron snapped before she could continue. He had to prove he could remember _something_. It hurt him sometimes when Hermione's behaviour made him feel like he was so much more stupid than her.

In fact, he had a very good memory, and he was going to show it. "In May, the last year Harry was still with us. Draco's father suddenly showed up at school in the middle of our football practice. I remember…Harry and I saw a tall man with white blonde hair walk over to you guys who were standing on the sidelines."

"Yes, he began talking with Draco as if nothing had ever happened, but Draco told me later his father had actually been in prison all that time. He didn't even know his father had been released until he saw him walking across the school grounds."

"I know!" Ron said, annoyed that she had told him what he already knew. He wasn't stupid for goodness' sake! He was in training for the special police force, and he was doing a bloody good job too! "He was really strange and haughty and scary. I remember he acted as if it was completely normal for him to be there. And then when Harry and I came over to see what was happening, he started asking weird questions."

"What? Do you remember what exactly he asked?"

Ah! This was better. Ron thought. In the end, Hermione knew very well Ron had a very good memory, just not for theoretical things. He wasn't very visual, but rather focused on hearing and emotions. He could remember conversations very well, and had often gotten through exams just by listening to Hermione's explanations, seeing as he was so bad at taking notes.

The redhead raked his brain for that distant event. It hadn't been so important, so he didn't remember many details, but it had been strange enough to capture his attention at the time. Their omelettes now lay forgotten on the coffee table as they plunged into their own history.

"He asked our names." Ron prompted.

"Yes…" Hermione followed. "Indeed…I remember now. And he looked differently at Harry when he heard his name."

"Really?"

"You didn't notice that? I thought it was so obvious. Even Draco saw it. He was defensive about Harry afterwards. Like he always was when anyone showed interest in him."

"God, those two." Ron shook his head slightly. "I feel awful saying it, but sometimes I feel relieved that Harry is gone, because it means they aren't constantly together anymore, being so complicated, and angry, and defensive and secretive all the time."

"They didn't know what was going on themselves, you know. We were all still young." Hermione tried to reason.

"I know, of course." Ron looked at his abandoned omelette, but the hunger had left him entirely. Instead now he craved another drink. "Even if I say this, I do still miss him, you know."

"I know." Hermione nodded sympathetically. "Me too."

Some things are only understood among the people who have lived the same. And in this instance, only Hermione, Ron and Draco could ever find solace in each other. Except that Draco had never been very open to talking about touchy subjects, especially Harry. And they both knew not to start about it.

"Do you think Draco still hasn't gotten over Harry leaving?" Ron wondered aloud.

This was a question Hermione had often turned around in her head. At the time, their group had simply evolved in the way that it seemed natural to them how Harry and Draco related to each other. They were slightly different. No one knew why, but no one really thought anything about it.

It was after Harry went away, and when they started growing up, that each of the members began to think about it on their side. And what Hermione had come to think about it had puzzled her. She was usually a good judge of character, but this was a difficult case.

Harry and Draco. Draco and Harry. How often had those two names been said between her and Ron, when they talked of the two others. And the two 'others' meant something like 'the second pair'. Their group had slowly come to split into two subgroups.

Actually, from the beginning, Harry and Draco were the closest, they were the first participants in the Hogwarts game after all. Since Hermione and Ron had joined later, they were the second pair. But they had still been closer to Harry than to Draco, being his best friends and in his class. They had been a steady trio.

But at St-James, Harry and Draco were the ones who had slept together almost every night. The bond between those two had become more prominent.

And then, everything had suddenly collapsed. Their routine of going to the basement by the portrait of the fat lady had crumbled to dust. Harry was no longer there to keep the ties between the four of them. It had been a tough moment, but after going on a search for their lost friend together, the three remaining ones had tied stronger bonds than anyone could've anticipated. And they had lasted until now, and would last a longer time still. Because even though they did not always have much contact, they 'knew' each other in a way no one else could know them.

They knew the Hogwarts game, they knew the imaginary world they'd used to escape any harsh realities. They knew each other's childhoods, each other's troubles, each other's everything…or so they thought.

The truth is that even among the best friends in the world, some secrets remain. There are some things that no one ever wants to tell. Like who was Draco's father exactly, and how was it that he'd been in prison? What had Draco's early childhood been like? And Hermione's? And what had happened to Harry's parents?

Subjects left aside for the peace of everyone…

"I don't know." Hermione answered truthfully to Ron's question. "Draco definitely hides things."

Ron felt the sudden need for closeness and put his hand on his girlfriend's thigh, to which she responded by giving him a smile and a kiss. Their lips met in a familiar manner. Warm and comforting, that was what they needed at this moment.

The taste of eggs and veggies was still on their lips, but they didn't care.

* * *

"You motherfucking twat!" Draco Malfoy burst out when he left work on Friday evening and found once more that he had no messages or missed calls whatsoever from the person he was expecting it from.

He erased all the rest he had from other people without looking or listening at it out of anger, and regretted it instantly. Then shrugged it away and got into his car. He would not go home yet. If Harry was not inclined to let anything show of their former friendship, Draco was going to drag it out of him. No one could pretend they didn't know him! What was up with that boy!

Or maybe that was too extreme. Draco began to waver when he sat behind the wheel, staring out through his windshield at the lights in the dark street. It was already late in the season, the days were very short, and it was always dark when Draco arrived or left from work.

Maybe he should talk about it to his friends. Blaise wouldn't really know what was going on. He didn't know Harry, and had only seen Ron and Hermione occasionally. So those last two were the only ones he could talk to about this…but then he would have to admit how obsessive he was being about this. Seriously, checking messages twenty times in one day was too much. Wasn't it?

Harry had a right to do as he pleased. If he no longer wanted contact, that was fine. Draco could live on his own. He was independent! He didn't need anyone. He'd survived this long. He didn't need to go after Harry if he didn't answer for the second time.

But…what if it wasn't his own health he was concerned about? What if Harry was in trouble? What if he'd gone the wrong way? An eighteen-year old in a bar for people in their twenties, with shady people as company, or wandering the streets at night in the middle of London…

Draco didn't know whether Harry had even finished secondary school. What was he doing? What was his life like? What had happened to that language only he could speak? Was he still so interested in books? Did he still have the Anna Karenina book in Russian Draco had given him? Had he pursued learning Russian?

_God!_ Draco hit the steering wheel. He hated how his mind was out of control! What in the world was going on in his head? He couldn't keep living like that!

No, he had to at least make sure Harry was doing well. Make sure he was healthy, safe, and on a good path. That was a minimum, he told himself. A reason to go looking for the evasive, rude teenager. But wouldn't that be admitting defeat? For the second time, he would be looking for him, following him around on purpose. What would that be called?

_Oh, never mind!_ Grey-eyes sighed as he straightened his coat and turned on his engine. He was in desperate need of some heat.

* * *

Somewhere in London, somewhere in this metropolis, one young adolescent among the many, one young man with dark hair and green eyes, dark clothes too thin for the season and a wool hat for a different protection than from the cold…one eighteen-year old, one…just one…_that _one…

But what was he doing? He was walking quickly, almost stumbling over his own feet.

The sky was a dark shade of muddy brown, reflecting the city lights onto a sky of rain-clouds. Drizzle falling down onto the heads of anyone daring to be outside at this hour of the night, or should we say early morning.

The growing raven looked up from underneath his black strands of inky hair and saw the front of a bar whose owner he knew. He often ran errands in this place, and he knew that if he begged, he could get what he wanted.

The air didn't smell good when he entered the pub, but at least it was dry and warm. A clock behind the bar said it was past three o'clock in the morning. Harry sat down on a stool and glanced to the barman.

The barman knew who Harry was, and saw from the look in those green crystals that tonight he needed something strong. A glass filled with pure, clear liquid found its way into Harry's hands, and then it touched Harry's lips, and then the liquid was gone.

The adolescent grimaced, but persevered. He brought down the glass, and soon it was filled again. Once more, he squeezed shut his eyelids and swallowed. He _swallowed_. Like…

_NOTHING!_

No, like nothing. So Harry swallowed a third time, and by then, the world started to rock about him. The sound of chatter became distant and close at once. Smells were inexistent and light blended together to form only blurry shapes.

It was a different kind of high than he was used to, but he still liked it, and craved it sometimes. He couldn't always have it. He didn't have money, or permission.

_This place is too noisy, too bright. _He thought. So Harry jumped off his stool and left with a thankful nod to the barman. In the next place, he didn't know the owner, but he knew how to get what he wanted otherwise. It didn't always work. Tonight though, luckily it did.

Harry did what he did, and Harry swallowed more, and more, and more…

* * *

Seriously, guys, I've run out of ways to say thank you. How in the world can I say it in a way that it still sounds genuine after all the times I already said it?

Well, here goes. To **smak978, Fireaquila, PrestaVolwist, bbbreeex, 1000PaperWishes, megipegi, potterbuncker, thebellowingpixie, Camille Noir, warattekudasai...** Thank you so very much for being with me for so long and having such patience! I **_love_ **you guys!

And to **torajune28, writingstars, JellioisYUMMY9987, trueheartlove, tashelovewulfpack, lollapalozzafanatic83, Bloodpactlover, redder, Valou, Alice249 and other anonymous reviewers and newcomers...** Thanks a lot for trying out my story. I hope you stay until the end too :D I'm always so awfully curious as to what you all think and how you will react to certain things...

In short, everyone, oh bloody hell I'm grateful for all the reactions and comments. It's as simple as that!

Aoiika (who has been reduced to a teary, "joker-ish" smiling girl behind a computer on a dark and lonely night, here in cold and rainy Belgium)


	5. Chapter 4

**A/n: **I posted yesterday...I know. It's soon. I know. But I got ten reviews in one day! And I got itchy fingers because of it :)

Ten reviews, that's really crazy for me. I remember at the start of Nevar, I had to wait weeks for my first review! O_O

Enjoy, my dear potterheads!

Reminder: this is a sequel to the story 'Nevar'.

* * *

**Chapter 4.**

**The Beeping Noise**

There was a beeping noise, and the subtle shuffle of people's feet somewhere in the background. And there was a smell, an awful sweet and artificial smell.

Harry was confused. There was something wrong. He opened one eye, but couldn't quite see anything. All was blurry, the greyish colours surrounding him were swirling. It made him want to throw up, and he squeezed his eyes shut again to try and fight the nausea.

The beeping noise followed the rhythm of his pounding head. His forehead felt like a block of concrete. His arms felt like they were made of flannel and tubes were sticking into the back of his left hand and the inside of his right elbow.

The raven crawled up into himself, on the uncomfortable, hard bed he was lying on. The sheets beneath him had that same horrible smell. But this position helped to keep away the nausea enough to not throw up.

He wished he knew what had happened. He had no idea where he was, what time or date it was, what had happened since the last memory he had, and how he had gotten in what seemed like a hospital. He just knew he was sick, and he couldn't move. He just wanted it to pass. He just wanted the pain to pass and feel normal again.

A little later, he heard someone approaching. A woman's voice spoke in harsh tones, but he couldn't concentrate enough to understand what she said. Then another voice replied, and Harry moaned in desperation when he recognized the voice: Draco was there. Draco was there in the room. How? Why? What had happened? How much did he know?

The woman, probably a nurse, approached Harry and spoke loudly. It hurt his head, but at least he understood what she said. She wanted him to wake up. But he still couldn't move. His throat hurt, his chest hurt, his head hurt, and he felt sick. The noise, the smell, the humiliation of Draco seeing him like this, it was all awful. He couldn't move.

Draco's voice said something, but it was too low and far to make out. The nurse didn't seem to agree though, and she shook Harry's shoulder, pushing him on his side so he would have to uncurl himself. "If he can party, he can wake up too!" And then she slapped him slightly across the face.

Harry understood the gesture was to wake him up, and it did shock him into awareness, but it didn't go down very well with Draco. His voice was still too low to understand, but it growled angrily now.

Harry didn't pay attention to the rest. He curled back into a ball like before, because he really would've retched if he hadn't.

When voices came again, Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed. The same woman voice came, and the nurse fiddled with the tubes wrapped around Harry's arms. She was quite rough as she pulled out the needles sticking in his hand and arm, and she complained loudly that they needed the bed for other patients. Which meant Harry had to move, he had to go home.

His knees were shaking as he slowly and stiffly slipped off the bed and onto the grey-specked linoleum. Was it a policy for all hospitals to have a floor that made you want to vomit even more? Was it like a bet-you-can't-even-make-it-to-the-toilet game for them?

And indeed he didn't. Harry was just barely in the hallway, clutching at the walls when what he'd been trying so hard to keep inside flooded up his throat. A pool of almost canary-yellow bile with a disgusting vodka taste spread over the grey-specked floor at his feet.

"Harry!" A strong and deep voice spoke somewhere in front of him. Harry didn't know where, he was permanently bent over in fear he needed to vomit more. A nurse fussed about him as she starting cleaning this unhealthy goo.

Two hands that covered his entire shoulders gripped Harry tightly to right him up.

That was too much. He retched again, making the nurse complain.

"Well you shouldn't have sent him away then!" Draco's angry voice retorted. And then he spoke more quietly to Harry as they proceeded down the hallway. "I told her to at least wait until I was back! I can't believe how they treat patients here.

Then again, in most hospitals they hold a bit of a grudge against alcohol intoxication." The blonde reasoned with himself to bring down his emotions. "And I can understand them. A lot of their time goes into getting stupid teenagers who have drunk themselves into oblivion back on their feet."

And then the question asked itself. No one said it, but it hung there between them, like a silent sign. Harry was a teenager, who had drunk himself into a hospital bed. Technically, he was part of the group Draco had described.

But Draco didn't say more. He could see his friend wasn't in any shape to open his mouth. He couldn't even walk without having the blonde support half his weight.

Once outside however, something snapped awake in Harry's mind. _Something isn't right!_ The fresh air gave him a clearer mind and access to his last energy reserves. The nausea was slowly receding now that he'd vomited his entrails out. _What is Draco doing here?_

Harry pushed himself away from the blonde police worker. Was he in trouble? Was he here to arrest him? Had he had something illegal on him while he didn't know? Had he done something bad last night without remembering it? He wasn't the kind of mean drunk though.

"I need to go home." He said curtly to the blonde as he saw the grey morning sky. Or was it almost afternoon already?

"My place isn't so far from here." Draco's low voice said softly from behind him. "You can rest there all you want."

That was…sweeter than many things Draco had said or done in the past. And the way he'd said it had sounded different too from their earlier days together. Or was it the fact that Draco's voice had gotten a little lower and calmer? Harry could really hear the difference now.

But it was no use. He really couldn't go there. But his knees felt very wobbly again, so he plopped down on a bench in the little park that was the hospital's 'garden'.

"Wait, it's wet!" Draco protested, but it was too late. Harry could feel the wetness on his buttocks, but he didn't care. He was taking deep breaths of the cold damp air to try and make the concrete wall in his head retreat. It was so heavy.

"At least put this on then." The blonde police officer took Harry's wool hat out of his pocket and threw it onto his lap, then unwound his own scarf from around his neck and handed it over too.

The raven stared at the pile of clothes on his lap, took another deep breath and started putting it on. He was really in need of his hat, it was the scarf he wanted to protest about. But as the arguments of years past between them began to repeat in his memory, Harry remembered that he didn't want to start anything like it now. He simply didn't have the energy. Not now.

So he wrapped the scarf around his neck, feeling the warmth that still lingered in the fabric. _Draco's warmth_.

"Seriously, Harry, you need some heat, food and water, and a more comfortable place to rest. My flat is no more than fifteen minutes away. If I had my car we could've been faster…"

Draco trailed off. The sight of the sick, dark-haired teenager on the bench, staring blankly at the red dots on his skin where the needles had dug into it, made it clear Harry wasn't going anywhere with him.

Irritation was beginning to bubble up again. After staying with him at the hospital all morning, and taking care of him now, trying to help him, Harry was still being as shut as an enchanted Hogwarts door.

_Fine!_ Draco sighed deeply to try and dissipate the passion in him, then sat down determinedly on the bench next to his friend. He grimaced as he felt the same wetness on his pants, though he was at least partly protected by his coat.

The blonde thought that this might stir Harry up, that he would be surprised at Draco joining him, but no. Harry simply kept staring at his hands and arms, shoving up the sleeves of his jacket all the time.

A pair of what looked like doctors passed them at a hurried pace as they walked from one building of the hospital to the other.

"The nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs aren't working, Dr. Kennedy." The woman looked very stressed, her words tumbled over each other as she hurried to give the older-looking man the information.

"Then we have to try Corticosteroids. Start with Prednisone for now, and when…"

Then the two were passed and nothing could be heard of the rest of their conversation. It wasn't like Draco had understood any of it anyway, and he doubted Harry had. Harry hadn't even been listening by the looks of it.

"What do I do, Harry?" The blonde sighed.

"What?" This question caught the dark one's attention. His green eyes finally un-sticking themselves from his needle holes.

"Tell me what I have to do here. Because I don't know."

"I don't understand." Green-eyes frowned.

"Are you in trouble? Did I do something wrong? Why won't you simply say two words to me? More than 'I'm leaving' or 'I have to go'."

"I'm fine. See, I'm not retching anymore. I'll be fine in a few hours." Harry explained. The genuinely worried tone in the police worker's voice had made him feel guilty, and he wanted to reassure him.

"But what can I do to help? What can I do to keep contact?" _Honesty seems to be working_. The blonde thought to himself. He decided to stick with it for now. Harry had just spoken his longest sentence yet.

A gush of wind made the leaves that still hung in the trees shudder violently, and the ones on the ground flew up in little whirlwinds of muddy brown. There were no colourful shades here. As if the trees felt what a truly sad place this was, and didn't think it appropriate to show any other colour.

It was the sight of this deserted, cold and lonely park next to a building full of sick people, in pain and dying, combined with Draco's apparent wish to give him something, some support…Could he dare hope?

"I…" His head was throbbing so much. He couldn't think clearly. Should he be doing this? Should he speak? "There is something… you can do." He sighed in defeat.

Draco set his palm down on the bench between them to lean closer in. "Yes?" Harry didn't miss the eagerness in his grey eyes. He hadn't really looked into those eyes yet, not since a long time ago. He hadn't let himself wander down that road, he hadn't dared face him.

The raven hurriedly looked away, back to the dancing leaves and the roaring branches. He swore he felt a few drops of rain fall onto his forehead and nose, and he welcomed the freshness.

"I haven't had the opportunity, or the time, or the courage…there is someone I need to find. You're police so…maybe you could find her for me?"

All roughness, all rudeness had dissipated into thin air. Harry's tone was now weak and pleading. Draco's breathing quickened at the ache in his heart.

"H…her?"

The dark-haired one nodded. "Her name is Cho-Chang. But I don't think that's her surname. I don't know. She never told me more."

Draco swallowed. This wasn't at all what he'd expected to get as assignment. But it was _something_, and it meant he would see Harry again to tell him about the findings. Harry would _have_ to stay in contact this time.

"All right. What else can you tell me? Did she disappear? Where should I look first? Where and when did you last see her?"

"She'll be in the cemetery."

Silence. Wind. Leaves.

Draco had half a mind to ask whether he meant the girl was last seen at a cemetery. But since Harry had said _in_ the cemetery, and not _at_ the cemetery…

What could he say? What else could he say? The blonde racked his brain but nothing came to mind. And Harry looked simply…heartbroken.

"So…you know where she is?" Draco wondered why Harry needed his help then.

"No. I don't know where she is. She disappeared over three months ago. But I know she's dead."

"How? How can you know? You shouldn't give up on…"

"I know!" Harry snapped, sudden anger flaring on his face. "I just know, okay?"

The teenager started playing with his fingers, tangling and untangling them again. Draco's own fingers itched to cover those hands, to stop them from fidgeting so nervously, to soothe the troubled heart and mind it revealed.

But what could he say, damnit, what could he say? It had been so easy to speak when they were young, it had been effortless. Why was it suddenly so hard to find something to say to Harry?

"Well…what else can you tell me? Anything useful?" He tried to remember what he'd been taught in training, which questions to ask.

"She was around twenty, asian obviously, brown eyes, long black hair…" Harry began listlessly, as if summing up the letters of the alphabet.

"Okay." Draco said as he registered everything he could in his memory. If this was something he could do, then he would do it as quickly and as well as possible. He would find this Cho girl.

She might be in a hospital morgue, or in a state morgue, lying unidentified. What had she died of? Who was she? If her parents had somehow heard of her and found her, they might've buried her far away from here, or they might've had her cremated and scattered her ashes…

Really, finding a dead person was just as hard as finding a live one.

But now there were other questions on grey-eyes' lips itching to come out. He always wanted to know more, and with Harry, there could never be enough. Or so his mind told him. It went around in circles asking the same questions and it wouldn't stop until he had put those into words.

"Harry, what were you doing last night?"

The Raven's attention was caught again, his eyes brought up to meet the snowy grey ones. But he was frowning. His head was hurting, and the conversation was now going into a dangerous direction. How could he deflect? How could he avoid answering this time?

"How come you're here?" His only option was to ask his own questions. "What happened?"

Well, there it was. The question that the blonde was dreading. Admitting that he had been searching for Harry again was out of the question. So what was he to do?

Both were so stubborn about getting answers without giving anything in return that it was the wind and the leaves again that started leading the dance.

"An ambulance was called for you, people gathered in the street. I recognized you and I used my police ID to let them take me with you." And that was all Draco decided to let go. Nothing more would be said. Not yet. Not as long as Harry was being like…this.

Still, he found himself waiting for the younger one's reaction. Would Harry be touched, thankful for him being there all morning? Would he finally understand Draco wasn't his enemy here?

None of that. "Will you find her?" The raven asked, as if the previous subject hadn't been discussed. It wring at Draco's heart. The girl, a dead girl apparently, was getting more attention than him. Who was she? "I…I need to visit her grave." Harry finished.

That was all Draco needed to know what to do.

* * *

This chapter is actually slightly autobiographic. Meaning that the first scene is based on my own life. I admit, I was taken to hospital a few months ago because I had been stupid enough to drink so much. Once you're drunk, you really don't know your limits anymore.

So if the message isn't clear here, **be careful with that ethanol** **people**. It's a sneaky bastard that bites you in the behind when you're not looking and having too much fun.

I cannot describe how confusing it was to suddenly find myself in a hospital, with a nurse being all grumpy and angry at me while I felt like my head was going to fall off, and retching on that bloody hospital floor. It is one of the most horrible experiences of my life.

With this mommy-care-bear warning over, we can go back to real business :D


	6. Chapter 5

**A/n:** Ok, so I'm cheating a little. I'm posting a piece of something I already posted in Nevar. But I thought it would be easier than make you look it up again. On the other hand it makes this chapter look longer than it actually is.

Aaaanyway. (I say that a lot, don't I?) I hope you like this! **I encourage all of you who have not yet reviewed to tell me what they think**, and all of those who have reviewed before to keep telling me your thoughts and opinions. I like discussions, I try to answer to all reviews. (sometimes i forget which I already answered and which I didn't, and my PM inbox is too chaotic to look it up...so forgive me if you didn't get an answer :s)

* * *

**Chapter 5.**

**The Girl's Diary**

As soon as the next Monday came, Draco Malfoy was scotched to his desk at work, but doing something he wasn't really supposed to be doing for once. It felt a little odd, and exciting. Since his St-James days, it was the first time he'd really been breaking rules, in this sense.

Draco was a very new employee and supposed to only do the research his boss instructed him to do. This however, was not. It was completely unrelated. Draco was using the databases at the disposal of the police force to do their investigations, not for work-related things, but to look for a person who's first, or family name, or even nickname was 'Cho-Chang'.

To grey-eyes' greatest surprise, it was much easier than he'd ever expected. In the first ten minutes he got a result from the hospital database of deceased patients. A London hospital, in fact the very one Harry had been committed to the previous weekend, had seen an Asian female come in by the name of Cho-Chang a few months previously. And as the record showed, she had passed away.

It gave Draco a pinch at his heart to read that. A part of him was displeased with Harry being more interested in this girl than in the possible renewal of their friendship, but the other part of him had wanted to bring his friend good news, to show him he didn't have to be so pessimistic, to bring him up again after the drinking disaster. (To which Draco still had no answers. The conversation between them had ended shortly after Harry's request, and decline of going to Draco's home.)

But whatever the reasons for Harry's behaviour, this wasn't going to help. The girl he seemed to be so attached to, the one he'd been sure was dead, was indeed no more. _And how did he know?_ Was another question that popped into the blonde's head. But Harry hadn't volunteered any more information about anything.

_We're going to change that_. Draco thought determinedly to himself, and then started look for extra information in the database, but except for the age, gender and time of death, there wasn't much more listed about this Cho girl.

After a quick left-right movement of the head to see whether anyone was paying attention, he got up and slipped out of the office.

The drive was a little frustrating, even outside of rush hour, traffic in London was awful. But it was too late to consider taking the tube.

A quick flash of his ID convinced the hospital staff to help him with his search, and soon he was brought down to the mortuary. But not to see the body. They informed him there that they'd already sent the body to a funeral home a while ago to be buried anonymously, since no family or contacts were found. However, they still had her personal effects. She'd had a bag with her on the night of her death.

In a neon-lit room in the basement, next to the room where dozens of dead bodies lay, Draco started to look through the said bag, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot and glancing at the mortuary staff member, a man in his forties who wore glasses with bright-green rims.

A make-up bag, some drug paraphernalia, a small bottle of the cheapest vodka, tubes of red and black nail polish, condoms, lube, keys with a stuffed animal key-chain… it certainly painted a picture of what kind of girl Cho-Chang was…and finally: a notebook.

Draco recognized it. It was exactly the same kind of notebook he had once used to write down everything he invented about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And just as the one he'd used, this one didn't bear a title on the cover. So he opened it.

It was a diary, a personal diary. Draco felt the urge to shut it again, until he remembered that the girl was dead. It…didn't really matter anymore, did it? Or did the fact that she was dead make her diary even more sacred? What was he supposed to do with it?

"If no one comes to take this, what will happen to it?" Draco asked the odd man with the green glasses who was standing next to him with his arms crossed behind his back.

"It will be thrown away." The middle-aged man said matter-of-factly. He didn't look very touched by the contents of the bag, by the remnants of someone's life, someone's personal space and thoughts. "We have an obligation to take care of the bodies, but not the belongings."

Draco thought the man was quite an unlikeable person. Maybe that was why he worked with dead people. But the answer was clear and concise. If Draco didn't take these things with him, they would get lost, and maybe Harry wanted to recuperate them.

That evening, after getting back from work and preparing some quick food and a glass of wine, Draco sat down in his armchair to eat, the bag sitting on the couch. He stared at it for a while. It looked alien, like an enemy. It looked threatening even. And he didn't like it.

However, the blonde took gathered all of his courage and reached out for the bag, plucking out the diary. He felt very guilty and awkward, and was both curious and afraid of what he was going to read, but he justified it to himself. _If I don't read this, no one will, and this girl's life will be non-existent to everyone._ Except for Harry then. Harry seemed to care.

Damnit! Why did he have to care so much? And why did it have to bother Draco so much?

Grey-eyes took a long gulp of wine, chewed on a piece of red meat and opened up the notebook.

_I know I'm supposed to write every day. It's the rule when keeping a diary isn't it?_

_The truth is, I don't care enough about my life to feel the need to write about it. One might say it's an occupation for the self-centred, don't you think? And who am I talking to anyway. If I don't care to write, I certainly won't care to read. And I can think of none else who would, for I'm not foolish enough to write anything down that will get me killed._

* * *

_I'm not sure why I wrote that last entry. When did I even write it? I was high most probably. I'm high now too. It doesn't even matter on what. I think it's going to kill me either way. And since I realised that simple fact, I guess it wouldn't be such a bad thing to write things down. I feel an urge at the end of my life to leave something of me behind. I can find no other way than this diary. This notebook had no idea how important it would be when it was bought by my hands._

* * *

_It seems I'm stuck. I said I would write, but I abandoned the previous entry, because I did not know what else to write. Now that I have discovered a desire to write, I can't possibly find anything to say. I live for nothing but the next hit. It's all I look forward to, all that makes me get up and get to work. I'd sworn to myself it wouldn't happen to me. It's the silliest, but worst mistake of my life._

_Should I tell you what my job is? Oh well, I shouldn't be afraid to shock myself._

_I was wrong, I do shock myself. I don't want to admit it. It doesn't matter. I know what I do, I don't need to write it._

_I hate this diary thing._

* * *

_I'm sorry. And I don't know who I'm apologizing to. I should just tell you to fuck yourself. And then I think, is that person me? So I'm insulting me? Well, fuck you bitch!_

_God I'm laughing so much it hurts. Bella brought me something nice. I've never heard of it before but it feels better than snow, and crazier than acid. She said it's gaining popularity, I can't believe I didn't try it before. And it doesn't cost me too much, so I don't have to take on more clients. Them filthy worms._

_It's cheap because it's made by the bosses (Imagine me saying this in a sneering tone). It has the same name as the organisation: SH, Sedate Heart. Did I tell you?_

_Well, I know, I don't need to tell myself, you cunt._

_I'm sorry I'm swearing again. I didn't mean it. This stuff makes my hand write without me thinking about it. It'll be the first longer entry thanks to that._

_So, Bella calls it 'sshhhh', like when you tell someone to shut it. 'Shhhh' get it?_

_I'm laughing again. Good gracious I love this Sedate Heart thing. Why didn't the bosses (again, bosses=sneer. Sneer sneer sneer and more) give us some? They should pay us with ssshhhh. And we'd do everything they want. The clients can do whatever, I wouldn't even notice. Them filthy worms. In the rain. In the perpetual bloody rain. The earth worms._

_I'm cold._

* * *

_I am fooling myself. There is really nothing of my own life worth putting down. But maybe it'd be nice to say something about Bella, and Christie. And about that new one. I'd never thought I'd see a boy in our midst. He's certainly worth writing about._

_I've only caught glimpses of him however, I don't really know anything, and neither does anyone else._

_I wonder what he's here for. He'll probably be gone in a few days. I can't imagine what he's doing here. I've heard rumours, but I never trust such things._

_I'll leave it at that for the present._

* * *

_Christie saw him yesterday. They've fitted up a room on the top floor for him. We're not allowed to go there, nor to talk to him. Flint says the boy moves in different circles, though what that is supposed to mean I can hardly conjecture._

_Oh Good Gracious, I've just noticed the language I used in previous entries. It's truly dreadful. I wasn't very lucid, but still, it's an awful read._

_If I write again, it will be the same though. Bella is still taking SH, but Christie has persuaded me to keep off it. She heard things, rumours again, but Bella can't be kept away from it._

_Christie seems worried, as if she expects Bella to drop dead tomorrow. We know we'll all die in some years, but not now…_

_I don't want to die just yet. It's silly I know, seeing as how I chose to live my life. I myself don't see any appeal in it. And still, I don't want to let it go._

* * *

_I have to hit the streets in a few minutes, so I don't have much time, but I absolutely have to write what happened._

_It was the middle of the day and I'd only gotten to bed a few hours, so imagine my dismay (with dismay I mean a roaring angry yeti, ask Christie she saw my face) when there was a hellish noise coming from the top floor._

_When me and Christie got out of the room, we soon forgot to be angry. I was and still am rather worried, for we heard screaming. It was high-pitched, but broken through. I'm certain it was the boy. He must be at the point where his voice changes to a man's._

_He's the only male in this place at that stage in life, so I cannot have been anyone else but him. Unless they keep other boys up there? What for?_

_Have to go now. Christie's tapping her foot. You know she does it on purpose to annoy me and get me to move faster._

* * *

_It's been a long time since I picked up this notebook._

_These last two weeks have been hell._

_Bella, I'm not sure what's happened to her, but she is getting very depressed. More than we all already are. Usually we try to make the best of it, but lately she's been caring about nothing but the sssshhh drug. The SH I wrote about before._

_It's as if she's married with it. We're not allowed to say anything about it. She's thrown (literally took her by the collar and thrown) Christie out of her room when she went in to try and convince her once again to stay away from SH. It's sacred for her, and she'll never ever stop._

_At those times, Bella seems like a complete stranger to us._

_But then at other times, she becomes so dejected that she's not able to work properly anymore. The clients aren't coming to her like before. She doesn't take care of her appearance, and she looks depressed. They don't want that. And then she starts to worry that she won't bring back enough money to keep Flint happy. And if Flint isn't happy, it's because he knows that he'll get in trouble with Avery, and then the Lestrange woman will come to take care of things._

_You do not want to have to see Lestrange. Believe me. Bella is scared to death that she'll come. It's but a rumour, but still everyone knows it's a fact, that she's as cruel and dead-hearted as Riddle. Besides, she is crazy._

_This is what we've been dealing with for two weeks. First Christie and I are insulted and literally kicked out by Bella, and at other times we try to console her for hours on end, trying to get her up the hill again, so that she can make more money._

_I've been thinking to give her some of my share. I've got a little more clients than what I'm expected to have. But I'm afraid Avery will get suspicious. Flint is too slow to discover anything strange in our money affairs, but Avery will stick his nose into it._

* * *

_Good news! I think Bella is doing better. I wouldn't say 'well', but certainly 'better'. I've given her my extra money, so Flint didn't notice how few her clients have become. And Christie and I have helped her with her preparations in addition of our own before work, and we try and lighten the mood as much as possible, so she'll smile. With all this combined, she's gotten her fair share of money to hand to Flint again. We're all relieved we won't have to see Lestrange._

_Now that my biggest problem isn't giving me headaches anymore, I've had some time to return to the mystery of the top floor boy._

_There has been no screaming anymore. He's been allowed to come downstairs! I saw him in the kitchen, though he wasn't cooking anything. He was sitting at the window, just staring at the wall of the apartment block opposite. I don't see what he can be seeing that would interest him._

_But still, not one knows who he is. None of us talks to him. Because there are men around that we've never seen before, and it feels like they're keeping an eye on him, to make sure he doesn't make contact with us._

* * *

_I've talked to him! I know his name now._

_It's Harry. He told me. And I was right about his voice. He's in the middle of a voice break. I distinctly heard it when he told me his name._

_I talked to him, because it appears he's on a hunger strike (he told another girl). He worries me a little, because he's so thin and small and weak. So I tried to convince him to eat something I'd made for myself, but he refused categorically. His green eyes behind his glasses had such an obstinate look, a thousand times worse than Bella when she's defending her favourite drug, that I didn't attempt any further persuasion._

_But there's only so long one can keep on a hunger strike. And he didn't tell me why he's doing it. The strange men are still around, and one came into the kitchen at that point. I had to leave Harry behind._

It talked about Harry! What was this?

Draco reread the last few entries. The dark-haired teenager wasn't mentioned a lot, but the bits of information were enough to get Draco too curious to put the book away. It was more addictive than any novel he had ever read.

_I'm sorry. Yes, I know. I don't write often enough. It's been a while again since the last entry. A few weeks. But it's quite busy these days. And this Harry boy…he's been capturing my attention for a while. I said I was worried before, well now even more._

_I haven't seen him eat once since he's here, and he looks very pale and tired. I haven't had the opportunity to talk to him one to one though. I'll have to see if I can get a moment alone without any of the other men around to watch what we're doing or saying._

* * *

_Last night. I came home around 4 in the morning. It's too early I know, but I didn't have the courage to take more clients. My UTI is bad enough as it is. Luckily Flint wasn't at the door to see me, 'cause he wouldn't have let me in so early._

_The good part though is that while mostly everyone was gone, Harry was in our living room downstairs. And you know what? I got him to eat something! Part of my sandwich. I believe he was too hungry to be able to resist. But he insists on continuing the hunger strike, though I still don't know why he does it. _

_He's cute, you know, Harry. Well, I have asian genes, and I'm quite short. My old boyfriends were always too tall for me. But Harry's just a head taller. And he's not so bulky. He's thin and small, a little like the asian. Maybe that's why I like him? Do I have a preference for that type? It never really occurred to me._

A feeling of discomfort was building up steadily in Draco's stomach, and by the time he had reached this point, he had to shut the notebook. It was too much. He felt like he was intruding too far into this girl's mind and heart. And even worse was the fact that she was clearly developing feelings for Harry.

He just couldn't read that. He couldn't go further. Harry seemed to care a lot about this girl too. What if they'd had a relationship? It seemed more and more likely.

Draco didn't like it. He grimaced. He knew he liked Harry. Since he'd started going out with men from time to time, he had realised what kind of love he had for the dark-haired one. Friendship and admiration, but with a little twist at the heart that made it unmistakable.

But all of this, the blonde had to set aside for the moment, because this text told him something new. Thanks to the Cho-Chang girl's diary, he had gotten more information than Harry ever would have given. He felt just a tiny bit guilty about that, but most of all, Draco was even more worried than before.

It was clear now that Harry wasn't with his uncle and aunt anymore. But where he was, in what kind of environment was unclear from the notebook. Only that the girl and Harry seemed to live in the same house.

At the hospital, they had told Draco the girl had died of a drug overdose. But not what kind. They also told him they suspected she had been a prostitute. But that was all the information they had. It had sounded vague and undetermined, so much that it could just as well be false. But since it was _all_ Draco had gotten as intelligence, he was inclined to accept it and go on with it, for else he would be back to square one regarding Harry.

* * *

The call came on Wednesday night. Draco had put his mobile phone on the loudest setting, to be certain to hear it at night, for he had a feeling that was when Harry was most active. He was pulled from a strange dream which involved Blaise and his boss making love…truly disturbing…

Draco gasped awake and was momentarily blinded by the screen of his cell-phone lighting up. But his heart jumped into his throat when he saw a number flashing, and not a name. This meant it was someone new calling him, and since he hadn't given anyone else his number in the last few weeks, it had to be Harry.

"Hello?" He croaked uncertainly, cringing when he found his voice not to sound good enough.

"… Draco?" He heard after a long pause. It was most definitely Harry's voice. It had changed since their days at St-James. Harry's voice had become a man's during the time they were apart. But even after seeing him only three times, he had already etched the tone and pitch into his mind.

"Harry." He said. It wasn't a question.

"I'm calling from a phone box…"

It was a strange bit of information to share. Draco wasn't sure why it mattered. Why was Harry saying that?

"Don't you have a phone of your own?"

"No…" Everything Harry said seemed to hold the promise of more words, more of that voice, but Draco was always disappointed when nothing came.

There was a very long and awkward pause. Draco was propped up on one of his elbows in his bed, trying to get his sleepy brain to change gears and act, but it was hard. It was really hard to speak to the teenager.

In the end, it was Harry who spoke first. "Did you find her?" His tone was hopeful and depressed at the same time.

"Yes. You were right."

The silence on the other end meant Harry knew what Draco was talking about. Harry had been right, Cho was dead.

"Do you know…where she is now?"

"Uh…" The blonde had to breathe deeply. His friend sounded very...formal. His voice was stiff and unfeeling. Like a robot. It wasn't natural. "Yes." And he gave the name of the cemetery where she was buried.

It was such a silent phone call. Never had Draco spent so much time listening to silence on the phone.

"I don't know where that is!" Harry finally said. Now he sounded a little bit panicked. The emotion was slowly slipping back into his tone.

"I can drive you." Draco immediately offered. It was too easy an opportunity.

"I…Dra…" Harry sounded like he choked on his tongue. "Thanks." He finished awkwardly.

With the dark room around him, staring at the ceiling, the light of the screen visible on the left side of his nose, Draco listened. There, then, in the middle of the night, he was listening. Just listening to his breathing. _His_ breathing.

And then it was cut off. So suddenly it was almost shocking, Harry was gone, replaced by the most irritating and frustrating beeping tone Draco had ever heard.

_His money must've run out._ He thought, thinking of the phone box system. But it made it no better. Had Harry's thankful response meant he accepted the invitation? And if so, they hadn't had the time to fix a date or time. But Draco could not contact him, he could only wait.

He waited the rest of the night, unable to sleep. He was staring in the dark at his bedside table where he knew his phone lay, but it stayed quiet, the screen stayed dark. Harry didn't call him again.

* * *

Which very wise message could I give you this time...hmm...

I'm out of ideas. I don't have much advice to give. I'm way too non-perfect for that.

Hey, did you guys read about the book J.K. Rowling wrote under a pseudonym? Did anyone read it? And what do you think about the fact that it gets so much more attention now that it's known that she wrote it? Do you think it fair/unfair?

I'm not sure. On the one hand, I think any work from her deserves attention, and unfortunately, unknown authors (whether good or bad) don't get much attention. So in a way it's good. But on the other hand, I'm disappointed. Because lots of people now will be biased when they read it, and not see the real value of it, just because it's linked to a famous name.

I don't know. I'm reluctant to read anything else from her. I think...if I read something from her that is not Harry Potter, it will make me feel more like HP isn't real (a bit like she is cheating on that story by making up other stories), and that feeling just breaks my heart. I'm sure you get that, you lovely potter-fans that you are! :D

But it's not fair to J.K. Rowling. I'm so sorryyyyyy!


	7. Chapter 6

**A/n:** It's hard. I know the story, and I want to share it with you so much, but getting it written it down is complicated, certainly in my state now. But here is what I have, and I will try my hardest to have something for you soon again!

I am in a situation where I have to exercise a lot of patience, and it's making me crazy! So I understand your side of things if you had to wait for this chapter... :)

But I am getting into this relationship between Draco and Harry, and the changed dynamics of it...I like the atmosphere, I hope you feel it the way I meant it. And don't forget to enjoy! Enjoy everything.

* * *

**Chapter 6.**

**A Cemetery Visit**

Ethics. Always such a complicated subject. Bordering on philosophy, religion, morality… There are always ethical problems, and there never seem to be definite solutions to them. And still they cannot be ignored.

Ethics is such a bitch.

That was Draco's point of view on the matter. But he couldn't deny the feeling in his gut that told him what was wrong and what was right. And reading Cho-Changs diary was wrong…it was, wasn't it? Or maybe he should ask Hermione? She had always had a severe set of morals, she was an annoying conscience with legs and a brain.

And breasts. Hermione had nice breasts. Not too big, which made her look thinner and more androgynous. The kind Draco liked.

Draco shook his head. _No!_ How in the world had he gotten so confused that he could have such thoughts towards _Hermione_ for God's sake!

The answer was pretty obvious though. Hermione would be totally opposed to reading a deceased person's diary, much more a girl's diary who seemed to be falling in love and might reveal her most inner thoughts and desires. That's how diaries worked, didn't they?

_But it's Harry she's talking about! _And this made Draco both want to read it, and fear to read it. It was like wanting to know the result of an exam test, or a medical test, but at the same time fearing the result one didn't want to hear.

This had to stop. It wasn't healthy, the blonde realised. He'd been drinking every evening just to deal with the stress this situation was giving him, and he needed some peace. What if he actually became an alcoholic? He hadn't been drinking much…just enough to get rid of the annoying thoughts, to feel good, to feel relaxed. (Since he couldn't allow himself to buy illegal weed from the dealers he was supposed to be arresting, he had to work with what he had.) But still, drinking hard liquor every evening after work wasn't an acceptable behaviour, it seemed.

And that was why he brought Cho-Chang's bag, with all of her belongings and the diary in it, to a little cramped basement in his building that had come with the purchase of his flat, and stashed it away among the few things that filled up the tiny space.

_Out of sight, out of mind_, was the logic behind it. Draco locked the door and turned his back to it and did his very best not to think of it again.

* * *

"Wait…wh…what are you _doing_?" Draco hissed at Harry, throwing nervous glances around them.

The trees were bearing different shades of brown and red leaves, some of them lying in the mud on the grassy paths of the cemetery. The wind was forming mounds of them that had to be avoided, so big they were.

"Relax." Harry responded with a drawl that was unlike anything the blonde had heard from him before. "She loved this stuff as much as I do." And the teenager proceeded to light up the contents in the little pipe he had stuck between his delicate, pale lips. Draco watched him inhale, smelling that sweet, penetrating odour as the fumes passed him in the autumn wind.

Harry was crouched in front of a grave with a cheap wooden cross. It bore the name "Cho-Chang" followed by the suspected year of birth and the date of death. No one had even shown up to say when this girl was born, or what her real or full name might be. And now she lay there, under the ground. No one would even know what she had looked like, except Harry, who was now staring in silence at the cross.

The blonde police officer looked around nervously, wondering whether this cemetery was much frequented. But there was not a soul in sight. Not on a Tuesday afternoon anyway.

Draco had taken the entire day off from work, saying he felt the flue coming on. He wasn't sure his boss believed him, but well, what could he do? Harry had called again and had proposed this date. Apparently it was the only one he could free up in the near future. What choice did Draco have but to make it happen?

More leaves were swept away by the wind, and more were deposited on the graves, including Cho-Chang's. Draco was starting to feel chilly in this wind, and he wondered if Harry felt the same. But the adolescent just stayed crouched in front of the grave, staring at the name. The blonde didn't dare disturb the silence and peace of the moment, so he bowed his head and thought of the passages he'd read from the diary. He hadn't known the girl the ay Harry had, but at least he knew some things Harry didn't, the girl's secret thoughts and feelings.

Draco felt more guilty than ever. He hadn't even told Harry about retrieving the bag. He…he didn't want to give those personal belongings to him. He was afraid…somehow…that it would revive any feelings Harry had for the girl. And Draco was jealous. It was awful and disgusting and selfish.

_Yes, I am selfish, but I am alive, and she's not._

The walk up the stairs to his apartment was quite strange. He had convinced Harry to have a hot beverage with him in his home with some difficulty, and now they were climbing up in an awkward silence.

It was most awkward for the blonde, because Harry's thoughts seemed to simply be lingering at the cemetery. He was remembering things that were out of reach…

"You want it Irish?" Draco asked as they slipped inside his apartment and he inside his kitchen, behind the bar. He had started to boil water for instant coffee.

"No, I'm fine." Harry shrugged as he stood nervously in the middle of the small living room. Then the windowsill caught his eye. "Do you mind if I smoke by the window?"

"Go ahead." Draco shrugged in turn as he added some whiskey to his own coffee mug, but left Harry's alcohol-free. He then proceeded to put the two mugs on the coffee table and settle in his single armchair. It was the spot with the best view of the window, and consequently of the one sitting by it in the grey autumn light.

Harry continued to smoke what he'd started at the cemetery. But Draco could barely smell it now, for the smoke quickly rushed out the crack of the window. Which was a good thing. If anyone from work ever came by his home, he could not have his apartment smelling like illegal substances.

Speaking of illegal things…

"Do you sell it too?" Draco asked innocently as he sipped from his beverage. It was creamy, and strong. Maybe he'd put in too much liquor. But it was too late now, so he shrugged and swallowed, welcoming the double sensation of warmth as his eyes drank the darkness of his guest's plumage.

The dark one shook his head.

"Do you smoke it often?"

Harry raised his eyebrows in a "is-your-name-Molly-Weasley?" kind of way. Draco remembered how Ron's mother could be overly protective and inquisitive. But it felt weird to be seen as the annoying, responsible adult by Harry.

"Are you a criminal?" Draco cut to the chase suddenly. He'd never had much patience. And remembering the first time they'd seen each other again, in that club with the shady interaction between Harry and that bearded man, he wanted to get some answers while he could now that he'd persuaded his friend to come to his home.

"No." Harry responded flatly, and lit up the weed in his small pipe and inhaled.

Draco took several large gulps of his Irish coffee.

"You want to stay here tonight?" He asked matter-of-factly, making sure no emotion leaked into his voice.

"No." Harry answered in such a direct way that Draco couldn't ignore the pinch at his heart.

"You said Cho-Chang also liked it." The blonde said, attempting to revive some kind of conversation.

"Yes." The adolescent blew some smoke into the cold autumn air outside, watching it unfold slowly, gracefully…then put his lighter back to the brownish-green stuff in his pipe and inhaled while it burned. It was pure, so he had to light it every time. "She smoked even more than I did. Sometimes we smoked together. Whenever we had time…"Harry trailed off, his tone making clear that he was thinking of all those times. His eyes never crossed Draco's. He never took off his dark wool hat, his hair always obscured his face, and he never said much. He was the most obviously closed person Draco had ever seen in his life. It was even worse than when he'd been a child, and it had been quite strong already.

Draco Malfoy, Malfoy the proud, had to inhale deeply to steady himself. It was hard for his ego to handle being cast aside like this, being put in second place, being forgotten by time. He was no longer important. This would be a hard pill to swallow for anyone.

But then he could watch Harry's neck reflect the yellow city lights from below. They coloured the skin of his jaw orange, and plunged the little hollow of his throat into darkness. The contrast was entrancing to look at. Draco caught himself spilling some of his beverage onto his chin and hastily wiped it away. It would be safer to put the mug down for now.

"Your coffee is getting cold." He remarked as he did so.

The atmosphere changed slightly. It was Harry's attention. It was pulled back from the faraway place where it had been. It was here now, his green eyes focussing on the coffee table, and the two mugs set upon it. Something seemed to be keeping him from approaching the space between the couches. He didn't want to sit down there. He didn't want to be a part of that social space, preferring the margins, by the window.

"I made it for you, it would be rude not to drink it." Draco allowed his annoyance to leak through a little.

More hesitation…but then…one slender leg slipped off the window sill, then the other, and soon Harry was on his feet and walking towards the table. His eyes always on the mug, he picked it up and took it back to the window, and sipped. There was a tremor in his lip, something Draco recognized. Just that tiny vibration, and Draco knew.

"You don't like coffee." He affirmed. It wasn't a question, he just knew it. It had always been visible on his friend's face when he disliked anything he put in his mouth, a pinch at the corner of his lips.

But Harry only shrugged, and put the mug down in front of him, picked up his pipe, put it between his pale lips and lit it up. Soon the ethereal grey matter escaped from his mouth.

_Sweet mother of god, what am I supposed to do with him! _ Draco thought desperately as he got up with his own mug and went to the kitchen. Luckily Harry still wasn't looking as he poured some extra whiskey into the mug. He gulped the liquid and could feel his head starting to get heavier. The alcohol was circulating in his system now, and he wondered how his guest was feeling. What effects was Harry feeling from his weed? He looked like he was used to it, so maybe he didn't feel much anymore…

It was fully dark now, and Draco brightened the lights of the living room, then returned to his seat. He decided to finish the rest of his mug in one shot, and waited for the alcohol to make him bolder.

"Why, Harry?" He asked when the time had come. The adolescent's green orbs turned to Draco's feet. He was listening. "Why did you leave us?"

"I had no choice." Apparently there was no more weed, because Harry put away his pipe and closed the window.

"What do you do now? What's happened to you?" _Who is Cho-Chang? How do you know her?_ Draco wanted to ask, but this was too soon he thought. Harry had only started mourning today it seemed. Draco had too much respect to ask something like that so soon.

But Harry didn't answer. The worst was that Draco could see he had heard the questions, that he even thought about saying something, but something blocked him.

"You're not allowed to speak about it?" The blonde asked further. This complicated things.

But then, quite unexpectedly, Harry said: "You're right."

"About what?"

Harry pulled up both his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around it. His pupils were following some kind of movement in the street. Maybe someone walking his dog, or a couple walking hand in hand. Who knew? "I am a criminal."

Guilt. That was the most overwhelming emotion in that short sentence. Draco forced his alcohol-clouded mind to focus. Fortunately alcohol made him more emphatic, more able to deal with feelings of himself and others.

"Why?"

"I work for a criminal."

"What do you do?" Draco's professional interest was now engaged too, along with his concern for the boy sitting in his living room.

"I bring around things. I exchange packages and envelopes."

"Do you know what's in them?"

Harry shook his head. "I just do what I'm told. Asking questions only gets you killed."

_This is just the start_. Draco thought. He was already forming a way of questioning. He had to know who, how, where and when, then find out where Harry was staying, how he had gotten there, who he was working for, and then he would find a way to get him out. He would come and live with Draco of course. That was a matter of course in the blonde's mind.

"I have to go." Harry suddenly stood up as he glanced at a 'melting clock' on the opposite wall.

Draco was cut off in his plans, caught off guard he stumbled onto his feet and tried to protest.

"Wait…stay here tonight…we need to talk…" But he had definitely put too much whiskey in that mug, and he couldn't come up with anything convincing. While Harry looked to have all his wits about him.

"Thank you for the ride to the cemetery." He said as he looked at Draco's knees. The wool hat folded over his head in the cutest way. It made Draco want to stick that head onto his shoulder, to feel the top of that hair under his chin, and then to pull the rest of the body close to his and…well…there were lots of desires circling in his head, none of them very clear at the moment.

"Don't mention it." Draco spoke automatically.

And then suddenly Harry was gone. How it had happened, Draco didn't know, but all that was left for him to do was to pick up the mug on the window sill that was still full of coffee. But instead of washing it, he simply poured away the contents in the sink and then set the mug on the bar. He could tell exactly which part Harry's lips had touched.

* * *

A lot of time passed since my last post. I started a Twilight story in the meantime, I was in the mood for it. If anyone likes Twilight, go take a look. Otherwise just stay with my HP stories. There are a few. Take a look, and share what you think. I certainly could use some motivation from your comments and critics :)

Thank You.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/n: Happy New Year!** I just did not have enough to post on the 1st of January. I guess the second will have to do.

I am posting much more slowly than I used to. I know. But i keep on going, I keep on thinking how to make the story better. I still have much to write, I have too many ideas...If only i could instantly have everything on paper which I have in mind! How great would that be?

* * *

**Chapter 7.**

**Riddle's Riddle**

"Do you remember?"

This had been Draco's question. On a Tuesday night Harry had found the time to agree to come by Draco's flat again, they were sitting in the living room once more. Harry by the window, sometimes smoking, sometimes not. But always there, at the window, just out of reach.

"Yes. I remember." The tiniest smile was visible on the raven's lips, like when he'd heard about Hermione studying Chemistry.

It was only the fourth time Draco had managed to get Harry to spend some time with him at his flat. And Harry hadn't changed yet. He still had on the same purple wool bonnet, just over his ears and half of his hair. But instead of a thin jacket he now wore a thick sweater. It bulged, showing that he was wearing several layers underneath to protect him from the oncoming winter cold. The puddles were frozen in the morning…

They'd gotten to talking about the portrait of the Fat Lady. The painting that lay just next to the sofa's they used in the basement to gather at night. They'd seen it so many times, but never really paid attention to it.

"I think it was some kind of medieval theme…with a pink dress…" Draco trailed off as he recalled it in his mind.

"No." Harry said, in that very direct manner he'd adopted since they'd been separated. "She wore white, and it was a Greek theme…"

For a while they did not agree. And why their memories differed, they had no idea.

"I know the woman died around 1960, there was an inscription on the back of the painting." Harry said as he put away his weed pipe, which he had been smoking as he did every time he was there.

"When did you ever look?" Draco wondered.

Harry shrugged. And that was annoying. It happened regularly that Harry just… ignored a question or something that was said. And the blonde was infinitely frustrated by this. In his mind he praised him late mother for always having had so much patience with him.

"Aren't you hot with that bonnet on all the time?" Draco asked as he remembered the image of the teenager wearing it in the night club the first time he saw him again.

"A little." Harry admitted.

"Then why do you wear it?"

The raven-haired boy sighed loudly and took off his wool hat. Without saying a word he laid it beside him on the windowsill.

"I have some leftovers from yesterday. Are you hungry?" Draco asked.

Harry still hadn't eaten anything, and barely drunk some tea since the first time he'd come by. But the fact that he at least did the effort to come to his flat encouraged the blonde to try and make his old friend comfortable, to make him feel at ease even if he felt annoyed at the teenager's behaviour.

"I guess so." Harry said, but in the end he gulfed down his entire plate of leftover carbonara pasta in less than five minutes. He looked starved. Did he spend all his money on weed and didn't have enough for decent food? Weren't the people he was staying with feeding him? Where did he stay for starters? And how exactly was he involved in criminal activities?

"Sorry if it isn't so good. I can't cook as well as my mom." The blonde apologised as he hastily finished his own portion and cleared away the plates.

"Where…how is Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry wondered in a small voice.

Draco was just with his back to the boy, putting the dirty dishes in the sink when he froze. He hadn't told Harry yet. It just hadn't come up. How would the boy react? He had truly loved Draco's mother. She had been a sort of substitute parent, as were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"She…" Draco sighed and stared at his sink. Then turned around and came back to his spot in the single armchair. Harry was looking at him, his green eyes flickering between his face and his chest. It wasn't often that he looked at anything else but the floor or the scenery outside the window.

"She announced to me she had cancer a few months into my last year. But you were gone already."

Draco waited. Waited for Harry to say something. That he was sorry, that he felt bad, that he was sad or devastated. Anything.

No. The dark-haired teenager simply didn't move. He stared at Draco, his eyes wider than normal, but otherwise with an expressionless face. And then Draco realised Harry was still waiting, still hoping. The blonde hadn't yet told the worst part.

"She passed away about a year ago. She left me everything. I sold it all and then bought this flat."

The raven's mouth opened slightly…and Draco was almost expecting nothing to come out. Harry had a way of making him think he would speak, but then stay silent. This time however…

"She's gone?" Harry asked with a raspy voice. And then something changed. His breathing quickened, and his muscles tensed, as if readying himself to jump and run. "Who else? Who…who is dead? What…"

It was hard for grey-eyes to understand, the sounds were obstructed by Harry's panicked breathing.

"No one else, it's okay." He said, wondering if he could let his instinct take over and soothe his friend in a more hands-on way, but it seemed like a bad idea.

The boy relaxed in the end and settled with his back against the window frame. His eyes closed. And grey-eyes started thinking of Cho Chang again. The girl that was dead. Someone Harry had lost apparently, and not so long ago. But why? What exactly had happened to her, and what was her relationship with Harry?

It was a question which only found an answer a week later. Harry was back again, with his wool hat and sweater. He really liked wool it seemed. He buried himself in it.

They talked again of silly things, of memories, of the better times. And when Harry had finished smoking, and they had eaten something, and it was dark enough that both felt safe and unseen, though neither of them was, the more serious topics introduced themselves.

"How was your week…what did you do?" Draco wondered.

The umpteenth shrug was given. "Just my job."

"Playing messenger?"

"Yes."

"For whom?"

That was a sensitive topic. It brought on a silence. But by now there had been so many silences, it seemed like it was just as much a part of their conversations as the rest. It showed how much distance there was between them. Even if they saw each other regularly, even if they shared the happiest memories together, _now_ they were miles apart.

"Harry, you know I work for the police."

"Yeah, I know." The teenager cut him off.

"But you don't know what I do." Draco continued patiently. "I'm in a narcotics division. We investigate the drug business, we track down important dealers and gangs."

Harry's fingers clinched together, and then immediately let go, as if afraid of betraying his nervousness. But grey-eyes noticed. "You're part of some kind of gang, no?" He said very softly, so as to show he didn't judge Harry, that he wasn't his enemy. "You told me you worked for a criminal…"

"Yeah."

Draco waited.

"Yeah." Harry straightened again, his featured hardened. His lips pursed and his brow turned into a scowl. "But…I don't think you should…I mean it's dangerous…"

There. Right there. This was a recognizable part of the old Harry. The need to keep everyone else from danger, to protect them, and to take on all responsibility by himself.

"It's my job!" Draco said, a little too harshly. He felt the emotion bubble up in his throat. For a few weeks already he'd been itching to get Harry out of whatever business he was involved in, but he needed more information. And his friend wasn't being very cooperative. His patience was running out. "It's my job to investigate these people, Harry. Whatever you've gotten yourself into, you can always get out. Just tell me who it is and I'll take care of it."

"It's not someone you can _take care_ of, Draco." Harry responded icily.

Grey-eyes was somewhat taken aback, but he didn't let go that easily. "Who is it? Are you running errands for Jones? Lil' Dad? Scrimmer?" He tried a few names of dealers he'd kept an eye on since he'd finished his training. A way of making Harry talk was always to guess random things, and Harry's urge to correct the mistakes would push him over the edge…

But this time it only earned him a shake of the head. Harry kept his lips tightly sealed. Was he that scared? Was it a bigger name? Was it more than a gang? Was it…

No. Not _him._ Draco thought with anguish. There was only one person he could think of that would surpass all other drug lords. This was not a simple gang. This was the highest echelon of organised crime. This wasn't a little case, this was a work in progress that the entire team had been working on for a few years. And the end of it was far from sight.

The arch enemy of the Special Police Force, the one person they could not track, could not find, could not arrest and could not stop.

"Is it Riddle?"

No response. Nothing unusual.

"It's him, isn't it?" Draco insisted. He hoped to get a negative answer. He hoped desperately…

"I work for SH."

_Shit! Fuck! No!_

Draco put his head in his hands. How had it come to this? Why Harry? How was this possible? Harry wasn't like this! He had always been clever, sweet and protective, stubborn and strong…

"Are you going to arrest me?" The teenager drawled in a mocking tone.

"Of course not!" Draco snapped. "Damnit, Harry! How could you be so stupid! SH?"

But before the dark-haired one could respond something else dawned upon Draco. A memory of an information session a while ago. A review of all the kinds of drugs most prominent on the streets, their forms and the most common hiding places and ways of transaction. One of them had caught everyone's attention. The most fatal one, and also the newest and most unknown.

"Did you take SH? Do you use it?" Without realising Draco had come to stand right in front of Harry, right beside the windowsill, and was leaning into him, as if he were going to grab his collar and shake him.

"No! No!" Harry yelled back as he instinctively threw up his arms in protection.

Draco stopped all movement. He relaxed at the idea that the harmful substance had not intoxicated one of his dearest friends, that at least he was safe from _that_. Marihuana seemed harmless next to it.

But he was aware of the sudden closeness. It was the first time they were so close, his arm was actually touching Harry's propped up leg. As he thought of it, it was the first touch since the last night he and Harry had spent in the same bed. Such a long time ago. It was unbearably long. And now Harry was back, unexpectedly, but in such a way that it was just as frustrating as it was satisfying to see him again. Nothing comes for free.

The raven misunderstood the fact that Draco had still not moved, thinking he wanted more information.

"I didn't take anything like that, all right? I know…I know what it does…"

Draco nodded absently, but retreated. He couldn't sit down though. He walked a little around the coffee table, then around the sofa's, then along the opposite wall. Green eyes watched him at every step.

"How, Harry? _How_?" This was something Draco could not understand. Harry was too smart to run into this kind of trap.

"It wasn't like I had a choice." Harry countered venomously. Draco was surprised when he looked up that his expression had darkened considerably. Harry was angry…hurt?

"Then what happened? Stop avoiding everything and give me some clear explanation! You owe me this, Harry! You never told me why you left!"

"I didn't _leave_!" The raven countered, his plumage standing up in defence, his fingers curled into fists upon the cold stone of the windowsill.

"THEN WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!"

Draco was shocked by his own outburst. He had felt frustration building up in his chest and stomach ever since he'd been confronted with his childhood friend, but this much?

It had the same effect on Harry. For a moment, both young men froze, listening for noises from neighbours, much like they had done when they were children and had made too much noise at night, fearing to have woken Narcissa Malfoy.

"DON'T! Don't leave now!" Draco fumed as he saw Harry jump off his seat. It stopped the younger one in his tracks, for the blonde was blocking the front door. "Tell me for once. Tell me the truth. I'm getting tired of this."

"It wasn't my choice." Harry mumbled, his eyes were obscured by his long bangs as he bowed his head. But his soft voice held anger, and hatred. "My uncle…sent me away. I was stuck there. I had no choice." Harry kept repeating how it wasn't his choice. As if defending himself, defending his way of life.

"What do you mean 'sent away'?" Draco asked. "Did your uncle know Riddle? Why would he send you there? Didn't he know what kind of person Riddle was?"

Harry shook his head. "You don't understand!" He sounded frustrated. Just as Draco felt. Indeed, he did _not_ understand. He didn't understand a thing when it came to Harry. "It wasn't like…the Dursleys had problems…financial troubles…I don't know. Riddle told me my uncle had stolen from his company, and that he had helped my uncle to get cleared of the charges and the debts. And in exchange, Riddle got me."

"You're telling me…"

"Yes. My uncle sold me." Harry's face screwed up. He was seemingly picturing an old scene, remembering something unpleasant. "I guess he too, didn't have a choice." But it didn't sound like he meant it. His teeth gritted, his jaws working furiously to contain the anger.

There were a million things going through Draco's mind at that moment. There were so many emotions he was feeling, towards Harry, towards Riddle and towards Vernon Dursley. His brain had no way of coping with it all. He was stuck for a minute, not knowing what to think or say.

It was only when his rational side picked up the thread of the conversation that he got control over his own mouth again. And his rational mind told him there was some part missing. Something wasn't adding up.

"Why?" His voice sounded rough, as it was in the mornings. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Why would Riddle ask for you?"

* * *

Helloooo my dear fanfictioners! I hope you had a good year? And if you didn't, I wish that the next one will be much better :) I wish you lots and lots of good fanfictions to read (I know they're hard to find, good stories in general are hard to find...)

I started this story in february last year, it will soon be the anniversary of 'Nevar'. It's been a long time...And to all the ones who have followed the story all this time, you are among the best human beings walking this earth! (In my opninion!) And I wish many others will come and read it... I wish that many can step into the world I created in my mind. It's so awesome to have people share this... Being an author is the best :)

And an author is NOTHING without the readers. (Well, he/she only has himself/herself as reader). So I have to say I love you guys, I love your comments, I hope to read many more, I hope to make the story even more fascinating and enjoyable! I hope it brings something more to your life...

Thank you everyone.

Aoiika

xx


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